


my Treasure

by asdfghakunamatata



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst, Awkward Flirting, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Childhood Trauma, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Detective Jung Wooyoung, Detective Park Seonghwa, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forensic Analyst Jongho, Healing, Heavy Angst, Hurt Kim Hongjoong, I want to scream, Kim Hongjoong-centric, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mentioned Kim Namjoon | RM, Mentioned Kim Taehyung | V, Minor Character Death, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Park Seonghwa-centric, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Thriller, Recovery, San & Jongho are actually brothers, Seonghwa is awkward but he tries, Slow Burn, Stalking, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Thriller, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Yunho & Hongjoong act like brothers, bcs seonghwa is still seonghwa, im so sorry my bbys, issa wild ride, minor PTSD, the armytiny popped out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27524758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfghakunamatata/pseuds/asdfghakunamatata
Summary: There were demons lurking in Kim Hongjoong's life.But as long as he was here, he won't allow those demons to swallow him whole.Though, God forbids he thought he could ever squeeze himself into the moulds of this new life he had built around him. No way.Because the universe didn't want to see him contented with living peacefully with his best friend, cared for by the people who loves him and release himself from the clutches of his past.But when he starts to receive poetically disturbing notes, the message was as clear as day.Those demons wanted him back.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Choi San, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 104
Kudos: 165





	1. I know you're already inside that place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! This story has been on my mind for ages and I've finally got the time to write it out.
> 
> This story is a whole different genre to what I'm used to writing but I'm a sucker for psychological thrillers and I thought I'd try branching out ykno. Which is why this not be my best writing but I'm trying my best .-. 
> 
> Also, we're gonna cross into some DARK territories in here. So, if you're not comfortable with reading about past child abuse and stalking, then feel free to leave. I'll be putting up warnings at the start of each chapter, but also keep a look out for the tags as well.
> 
> This chapter's TRIGGER WARNINGS: MILD PTSD / PANIC ATTACK

If Hongjoong had to deal with _one_ more annoying customer, he was going to pull _all_ his hair out.

His back was already aching, skittering from table to table and slouching to take orders and serve meals. Being on his feet the whole day, Hongjoong wasn’t sure if he could feel the sensations in them anymore. Safe to say, his ailing body was not in the mood to deal with the customer who had _everything_ to say about each dish, sending him back and forth to the kitchen to meet their needs. He was sure if the customer hadn’t left in the last ten minutes, Hongjoong would’ve _personally_ seen him out.

Melting his back against the chair behind the counter with an exasperated sigh, the tension in his leg muscles ring through his limbs as he rubs the pain out of them. 

“Finally got that guy to leave?” Yunho pops in behind the counter, taking off his apron. “I thought he’d never go.”

Hongjoong bit the profanities from rolling off his tongue, aware that there were still customers in an earshot distance of their conversation. “Every time he sent me back into the kitchen, I swear, I had half the mind to hide in the freezer just to cool off.”

Patience ran thin in his nature, especially when dealing with unreasonable people. If Hongjoong had his way, people like that customer would have had to face a wrath so frightening, they would have needed to find themselves a religion to heal from it. 

But he was working at Yunho’s family restaurant. That meant that he was also carrying the ‘Jeong’ family name. And the Jeong family has had shown him too much kindness and love for him to _ever_ let his actions taint the family name. In fact, he was trying so hard to _live up_ to that reputation.

The laugh falls naturally from Yunho’s lips, strapping his bag over his body. “Poor you.” He turned to ruffle Hongjoong’s hair as the shorter boy pouts. “Well, you’ve survived your hell, hyung. I’m about to go to mine.”

“There’s a big, fat degree waiting for you at the end of that hell, Yunho. As for me, all I can expect at the end of mine is a soft bed to melt into.”

Yunho smiles, clearing out the bin beneath the counter. “Hang in there, hyung. Oh, and thanks for letting me bring my friends over here for dinner tomorrow night.”

Hongjoong frowns at his words. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s _your_ restaurant.”

“That you work your ass off the whole day at.”

“Still not my name on the signboard, though.”

The sigh that fell from Yunho’s lips almost sounded like a broken record to him now. “Hyung, will you _please_ just accept my gratitude?”

Hongjoong doesn’t answer as he watches Yunho’s retreating back towards the entrance, but the latter whips his body to face him for a second. “Oh, and Eomma told me to tell you to come by soon. My advice? Put on some weight because she’s gonna kill you when she sees your skinny ass.”

For the most part of the next few hours, business went by smoothly. Save for that one customer a warning away from making it to Hongjoong’s blacklist. Customers streamed in and out of the restaurant and nearing closing time, he had only one couple finishing up their meal and a man who’d been at his table for quite a _lo_ _ng time_.

Long enough for Hongjoong to notice that he had ordered a cup of coffee since his arrival and spent the rest of his time stealing long glances at him. When Hongjoong would catch him staring, he’d immediately drop his gaze and bury his face in the journal he was writing in. 

On any other day, Hongjoong wouldn’t have given a damn. He _knows_ he’s good-looking. The number of times guys and girls would sneak glances at him, approach him for his number or 'accidentally' touching his hand when they paid the bill, could attest to that.

But Hongjoong has already dealt with two assholes today. He wasn’t keen on dealing with another one.

“Excuse me, sir. We’ll be closing very soon. Is there anything…” he trailed off, hoping the guy would get the message and hustle off.

The man lifted his head from his journal. Up close, his long bangs obscured the roundness of his eyes, but there was a slight twinkle that were reflected in them. His lips were pressed together while Hongjoong waited for a response.

“You’re very attractive,” the man mused. “All the people that were here were drawn to your beautiful smile and they really liked the way you carry yourself.”

At another other time, Hongjoong would’ve waved off the compliment with a smile. But right now, he was suppressing the strong urge to roll his eyes. “Thank you, but-“

“But when you turn your back at them, you scowl because off how nitpicky they are with their orders. You don’t let them catch you throwing dirty looks at the customers bothering you. You’re a mystery. So, which one are you?”

What the fuck.

Hongjoong shifted on his feet uncomfortably, having been made aware of how much this guy had been observing him. He gnawed on his bottom lip, trying hard not to meet his gaze. “Um, if you’re done, I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave…”

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, I said something weird, didn’t I?”

Hongjoong wanted to slap the obvious truth in his face. He _hated_ being watched like this, having eyes observe his every move, expression and speech. And this stranger had the guts to say it to his face?

A fiery retort was playing on his lips when the couple, which Hongjoong had almost forgotten were still in the store, asked him for their take out box. When he returned and bid them farewell, the strange man was already gone. Not to say he wasn’t relieved by his absence. 

As he cleared his table, a napkin sticking out from the side was knocked off, floating slowly to the ground. When Hongjoong picked it up, his eyes scanned the lettered ink pressed into it.

_You shine brighter than the rest._  
_Yet, even moths are afraid of approaching you._

He almost blanched at the words. Not only was this guy creepy, but a sap who didn’t know what personal space was. He threw the napkin into the bin, along with the rest of the trash. He’s had enough drama that day to last him a lifetime.

* * *

His house felt as cold as it always did when he got home. Granted it was more of a shack at the end of a line of houses close to the restaurant. The house came at an affordable price that didn’t eat up most of his pay check, probably because it looked like it was one storm away from collapsing and having the bathroom the _only_ other room in the house wasn’t popular among house hunters. But Hongjoong wasn’t one to complain. He spent most of his time at the restaurant anyways. As long as he had a roof over his head and a bed to ease his aching body after a full day of work, he was fine.

Routinely, like he always would, he got home, had his takeaway dinner (which he had piled up more meat onto his plate than usual with Yunho’s advice ringing in his ears) and got ready for bed. His back had merely hit the mattress when he slid a hand in his pillowcase, the motion already second nature to him, and pulled out the photograph he’d kept there.

Smoothing out the edges, his fingers trailed over the beautiful woman with the gleeful expression, hugging the tiny boy he was. The smile fell naturally on his lips. Despite the rough day he had, seeing his mother’s face at the end of the day always set his heart at peace.

“Eomma, are you doing well? To be honest with you, if I have to deal with one more asshole customer, I think I might join you up there in heaven… ok well, maybe I’ll start from hell but I’ll work my way up.”

He knew that only the crickets would hear him. But he’d gotten so used to talking to his mother in that way that he’s somehow hopeful the words would transcend beyond physical capabilities. Maybe it was more just for himself.

He tossed onto his side, pulling the blanket just up to his armpits. The photograph remained gently caressed in his hands. 

“Eomma, I’m happy where I am now. I complain a lot but I’m happier now. Yunho and his family have been so great to me. I think I’m finally moving on from-“ he gulped the tension in his throat “-from Appa.”

It had only been two years since he escaped from his father. The bitter memories remained skirting in his mind from time to time. 

But it had gotten easier. He was better at talking about it. The love Yunho’s family had shown him since they took him in two years ago showed him how much he’s deserved a better life. How much he had been right for leaving. How he wasn’t at fault for the misfortune that fell upon his family.

Still, he stared longingly at the photograph, dragging a finger over his mother’s face. His eyes half-lidded and lips losing any sign of a smile. He had long stopped fantasising about how different his life would’ve been if his mother was still alive. If his father hadn’t become abusive. If he still was a family of three.

“Eomma, I love you…” he sighed, closing his eyes with the photograph in his hand. “And I miss you so much.”

* * *

Hongjoong had finally understood the reason Yunho had gotten his permission to bring his friends over first.

They were a _chaos_.

He’d met San, Mingi and Yeosang before. San worked at a local florist and Mingi was one of the clinic practitioners interning at the local clinic Yeosang was working as a receptionist at. Hongjoong had met them at Yunho’s place a couple of times but work was always tight at their small town’s only clinic and florists get sent out on conferences more often than he would’ve imagined. Even when Yunho had gone out for lunch or dinner with them a few times, Hongjoong was always busy himself at the restaurant. So, their conversations never really progressed from hi’s and bye’s.

He had never met Wooyoung, Seonghwa and Jongho, though. Yunho had told him that the three left town after graduation for a career in law. Wooyoung and Seonghwa being detectives (and partners at that, to which Yunho adds that Seonghwa was always calling him, begging him to deal with the kid) and Jongho worked as their team’s forensics expert. But Yunho had always talked about them as if Hongjoong was catching up with old friends.

Despite not knowing these boys personally, he knew how much they meant to Yunho. He doesn’t miss the jovial tone in his voice or the way his sparkled brightly whenever he was talking about them. So, when Yunho had told him that all of his friends were _finally_ in town at the same time, how could he resist shutting the restaurant down for a night for them?

Only, he hadn’t imagined that bringing them together would be such a _raucous_. It was like stepping into a school hall before assembly started, only the boisterous energy came from merely _six_ boys.

“Woo, please take your crude public affection with San somewhere I won’t have the urge to cut your balls off-”

“Alright, _Sangie_ , let’s see you try keeping your hands away from Mingi after being away from each other for _months_. No experience, no opinion-”

“Is Seonghwa hyung lost or something? Where the fuck is he-““

“Yunho hyung, can you pass me that plate-“

“Jongho, don’t you fucking _dare_ touch my dumplings-“

The overlapping conversations made it seem impossible for Hongjoong to follow, but the laughter falling off Yunho’s chest told him that this was was just how they were together. Though they were still waiting on one more person, the atmosphere in the restaurant was livelier than Hongjoong had seen… ever.

He was about to get up to grab a plate of dumplings for Jongho from the kitchen, but he decided against it after Yunho had slammed him back into his seat after he’d done so too many times before. _(‘Hyung, you’re here as a friend, not a waiter.’)_ Instead, he tried to make small talk in between the cacophony of voices.

“So, Wooyoung, Jongho, Yunho told me you guys are in town for a case?”

Wooyoung detaches himself from San but leaving his hand in his. He leant forward with his chin propped up by his hand, a mischievous smirk graced his lips as he spoke to Hongjoong from across the table. “Yeah. As soon as we heard it was in our hometown, we snagged it so quick, that bastard, Sunghoon, didn’t even have a chance-“

“-What Wooyoung hyung is trying to say is,” Jongho intercepts, shooting the other a dirty look, “that there’s a missing persons case here and our commissioner thought we were the best team to go. Mr Lee Hyunshik.”

“He’s a bloody ghost, I swear,” Wooyoung tosses his hands in the air exaggeratedly. “We’ve asked around but no one seems to know who the fuck he is. His landlord was the one who filed the report after the dude hadn’t shown up to pay his rent, which apparently he had never missed once.”

“What about family members?” San asks, rubbing circles into Wooyoung’s palms.

“One daughter. But she lives all the way across town and hasn’t seen her father in years. Seonghwa hyung went there earlier today, but he should be-“

The bell dings near the entrance and their heads turn to meet a man dressed in a overcoat, only slightly hiding the thin waist and long legs in them. The man pulled his mask down and removed his cap and Hongjoong _swore_ he felt the his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

It was the creepy asshole customer he’d met before.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late.” Seonghwa slid into the empty seat, which happened to be _right across_ from Hongjoong’s. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, greeting the rest of his friends. When his eyes landed on Hongjoong’s, the boy immediately stiffened, eyes widened the size of golf balls.

“Hyung, about fucking time. Jongho was about to devour your share if you came any later-“

“Mingi hyung’s being an ass. That’s what I was stopping _him_ from doing-“

“Alright, but tell him that you were going to do the same if he-“

The growing conversation died in his ear because the only thing Hongjoong could focus on was how the _fuck_ was that smug ass from the day before sitting right in front of him and apparently one of Yunho’s _friends?_ Yunho’s friends were loud, but they were wholesome and caring. This guy had attempted to hit on him, then proceeded to insult him, and then decided to leave him fucking _poetry_?

He doesn’t allow his burning glare from leaving Seonghwa, but the latter was adamant on looking at anyone else _but_ Hongjoong. 

When he felt the tension behind his eyes screaming at him, he finally dropped his gaze. The others were engaged in a deep conversation about the differences between ducks and geese and Seonghwa was working so hard on looking interested in ongoing discussion, so Hongjoong decided to slip away into the kitchen.

There wasn’t much walking space, let alone a window to let the breeze in, but the seclusion of the area allowed him to catch his breath. He leaned over the workspace area with his arms carrying his weight. At the back of his mind, he was grateful to their chef for cleaning the area before he clocked off, but he was irritated at the lost chance to use cleaning as an excuse _not_ to go back out there and face _that guy._

“Hey…”

Hongjoong whipped his head towards the voice.

Oh great.

Seonghwa stood at the small frame of the door, grimace playing on his lips. He rubbed a hand behind his neck, but when locked gaze with Hongjoong, he dropped it. “I wanted to apologise… for yesterday.”

Seeing his blank stare, Seonghwa sighs. “I’m not usually… I don’t… Flirting isn’t my… strongest trait.”

Hongjoong could almost laugh. _That_ was flirting? He’d met third graders with better flirting skills than him. He didn’t think of the apology as anything but another attempt to get his attention, so he scoffed, crossing his arms.

“But then I realised that you’re the person Yunho was talking about…” Seonghwa took a few steps closer and suddenly, the tantalising senses in his veins made him painfully aware of how small the kitchen was. Hongjoong took as many steps back.

“… Yunho treats you like his older brother, so I didn’t want any bad blood between us…” a few more steps and Hongjoong tries not to stumble, shuffling his feet backwards, swallowing the thick lump forming in his throat. His back hits the side counter and he jumped a little.

“… so I hope we can put all that behind us and- Hongjoong?”

The distance between them was barely a footstep away in his vision and Hongjoong feels himself _crashing_.

Seonghwa was bigger than he was, his height looming over Hongjoong’s smaller, trembling frame. In his heightened mind, Seonghwa’s presence towering over him was forcing him to cower into himself, making him feel so small- so _suffocated_. He couldn’t hear the other’s voice over the loud thumping of his heart in his ears, his chest rising and falling as rapid as his breaths. The moment his legs felt like jelly, he sank slowly to the ground, trembling hands reaching to tug his hair for some sort of distraction from the excruciating pain.

_No. No. No._

“Hongjoong- Hongjoong hyung!”

Hongjoong wanted to scream. He wanted to yell for help, for any kind of relief from the death that was approaching him. But he’d felt two hands grip his shoulders and that had set off alarms in his head. He thrashed the giant hands from reaching him despite his clouding vision. He doesn’t feel any more grabby fingers but he does feel the presence squatting just a distance from him, and not any closer.

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

The hot tears sting his eyes and the grit in his teeth was starting to ache his jaw. The heat was burning his face and the air felt like nails down his throat. All he could do was wait. Wait for his own death.

But as time passed, after what seemed like hours to him, the pain was starting to dull. Hongjoong felt like he could breathe again, despite the scratchiness he felt when he welcomed the oxygen. 

He didn’t want to hear the sound his breaths. He hated the dulling ache settling in his chest.

He doesn’t hear Yunho talking to him, but this time, he allowed his hands guiding him to his feet, steadying his body with an arm around his waist. They walked out through the back door, which Hongjoong was grateful for because he wasn’t sure how he was going to get past the others sitting in the restaurant.

He did hear Yunho telling him he was taking him home, to which Hongjoong shook his head violently. It wasn’t his fault Hongjoong had ruined the night. It wouldn’t fair to him if he had to leave his friends for something Hongjoong was sure he was capable of doing. So, reluctantly, Yunho hailed down a cab, helped him in and paid the driver after giving him his address. 

Once the cab door closed, Hongjoong was finally able to focus on the numbness spreading throughout his body. 

He couldn’t believe it.

Two years.

Two fucking years.

And his father _still_ had a grip over him.

He was so fucking _weak_. All those years, working his ass off trying to erase his father from his memory. 

It took him _weeks_ of being comfortable around others again before he was able to speak without his voice trembling.

 _Months_ of regaining his trust in others before he was strong enough to return an eye contact.

All that was useless.

Because he was crumbling at the mere _sensation_ that reminded him of his father.

The house felt cold and empty again. 

Hongjoong couldn’t bring himself to work through his routine.

He shut the door softly behind him, resting his heavy body against it. He sank slowly to the ground, bringing his knees up to his chest and buried his head in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!! I'm planning for this story to have 10 chapters in total. I don't have a set update schedule, but I always try to write out my chapters ahead, so the next one will be up soon!! 
> 
> I'm not the most confident when it comes to writing, so please leave comments about what you thought because it really helps!! 
> 
> Hope to see you in the next chapter~


	2. I want your cold eyes to shine on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongjoong wakes up the next morning, unwilling to deal with the consequences.
> 
> But his friends are there for him. As they always are.
> 
> And Hongjoong finally has a proper conversation with Seonghwa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write .-. (i rewrote it like four times yikes.)
> 
> But I'm satisfied with it now!! I think it's the best one I've written so far :D
> 
> TW // MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION / ANXIETY / PAST CHILD ABUSE
> 
> Please take care!
> 
> Other than that, enjoy~

Hongjoong had woken up the next morning feeling like _death._

He was convinced the grim reaper had come for him just as he cracks his eyes open.

But when he did peel his eyes back, the heaviness in them proving to be harder than he thought, it had only been a certain Jeong Yunho skirting around in his kitchen a little too cheerfully in the morning, a stark contrast to the rotting corpse he felt inside.

There was a pounding ache at the forefront of his brain that forces him to shut his eyes, willing for the pain to go away. He groans, shifting his body to the other side of- his bed? 

Hongjoong was sure he had fallen asleep curled up on his cemented floor. He doesn’t remember waking up having the energy to drag his body to the bed. Which meant that, at some point of the night, Yunho must’ve come over and hauled his ass over to bed. The realisation hits him like the pang in his chest. He was really starting to burden his friend now, wasn’t he?

“Hyung? Are you awake now?”

Hongjoong curled up with his face burying in the sheets, too ashamed to face Yunho after all the trouble he’s made. He lets out a low grumble in response. He felt the end of his mattress dip and the dorsal side of Yunho’s hand against his forehead. He doesn’t have a fever, but he does feel feverish from the night before.

“Hyung, you should eat something. I told Eomma I was gonna have breakfast here and she came out with tubs of food before I could even tie my shoes,” Yunho chuckles, but Hongjoong couldn’t swallow the guilt in his throat. They were always taking care of him. He doesn’t feel like he deserved it. “And I’m obligated to tell you that if you refuse to lick the bowl clean, she’ll come bearing pitchforks.”

The heavy weight at the end of the mattress sprang up and Hongjoong hears the retreating footsteps before he heard the clang of plates and utensils. He sighs, unwilling to get up. Getting up meant that he would have to face Yunho. Having a panic attack, the first one after so long being convinced he was finally healed from his trauma, he’s not sure he can.

Reluctantly, he pushes his body from the mattress, propping himself up with his arms. His body felt like a tonne of bricks. Hongjoong had to pause for a moment, letting the initial vertigo pass. He swung both his legs to the floor before dragging himself over to the table. Every movement felt too slow, too heavy. It was a relief he could make it to his seat without crashing to the ground. He kept his eyes focused on the empty bowl placed in front of him, then the bowl started to fill up, first with rice, then eggs, then radish and cucumbers with spoonfuls of meat and spicy stewed fish. 

Hongjoong wills himself to pick up his spoon (because he doesn’t trust his shaky fingers to use chopsticks at the moment), pushing his food around and mixing them until he had a sufficient amount of each element in a spoonful. He can feel Yunho’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t say anything, bringing the spoon up to his mouth.

The burst of flavours enchanted his tastebuds. Having had only leftovers and takeaways as his meals for a long time now, he’d forgotten what a freshly home-cooked meal tasted like. Especially when it was cooked by a mother.

It tasted like home.

He brought another spoonful to his lips and he can feel Yunho’s face brightening up at the gesture. Yunho starts talking amicably about his friends like he always did whenever they had meals together. Hongjoong was grateful for that. He wasn’t in the mood to talk but he appreciates the sense of familiarity that Yunho was comforting him with. It made him feel safe.

Yunho was going on about the dad jokes Jongho had painfully told them last night and Hongjoong’s mind unconsciously drifts from the conversation. His mind leads him to think about the unexpected feeling he had last night. It was a familiar sensation that coiled in his stomach, making him nauseous. The feeling of being trapped.

He’s suddenly reminded of the darkness of his room, the way the only source of light had come filtering between the bars that were placed on his window. Their house has long had their power cut off because his father failed to pay months of electricity bills. So, Hongjoong could only count on the rays of the sun and moonlight to illuminate his suffocating room. He remembers being curled up into himself, hugging his knees to his chest, dreading the next time he had to see his father- how he felt so, _so_ scared.

“-kay, hyung?” Yunho’s voice jolts him from his memories. Hongjoong’s eyes peeled back in surprise when he sees Yunho’s face contorted in concern at how tightly he’s gripped his spoon as he scraped it against his bowl. He lets the exasperated sigh fall from his lips, dropping the spoon and pressing his palm against his eyes.

“Yunho, he’s back in my head, again.” It hurts for him to hear it himself because it had been so long since he felt this way. Haunted by the memories of his father. “He’s fucking my brain up. I hate it.”

Yunho doesn’t speak, letting Hongjoong continue the conversation on his own. He knows not to push him, but to give him the space he needs when he was comfortable enough to talk, one of the things Hongjoong admired about him. Hongjoong lets his shaky breaths dispel from his chest, finding the strength to speak again.

“I don’t know what happened. Yunho, I-I was fine! I was doing well! B-but, b-but then, suddenly- I-“

“That’s okay, hyung. Take your time.”

Hongjoong wanted to scream. He doesn’t know the boiling mix of emotions in his chest. He was confused, _angry_ , at his father, at himself. He wanted so much for things to go back to normal. For this whole catastrophe to be a distant memory again. He rubs his face roughly, dropping his head against the table, on top of his arms. He just wanted everything to stop.

Silence settled between them, but the raging emotions within him kept his mind busy. There was a layer of hot tears that escaped his tightly shut eyes, trailing down his arms and landing into a patch of his pants. He feels a soft hand treading through his hair in calming motions, running through the grease stuck to it and massaging his hot scalp. Somehow, it calmed him down. It calmed the fire burning from his head, down his throat and throughout his chest. 

Hongjoong recognised the familiar comfort. It was the way his mother used to console him, to soothe him from his turbulent emotions. Somehow, in the time that they’ve spent together, Yunho must have figured it out.

“Hongjoong hyung.” His name being called so gently, Hongjoong could already feel the comfort radiating from it. He kept his head down, focusing on the calming sensation on his head and Yunho’s voice to ground him. “You’re not wrong, hyung. You _are_ doing well. You have been and I’m so proud of you for working so hard to be. But what happened last night is not your fault. A panic attack doesn’t mean you’re weak, hyung. You’re still healing.”

He feels the loss of Yunho’s hand in his hair, hearing the screech of the chair and the shuffling of feet. He felt two hands pulling him back gently, and for the first time since he woke up, Hongjoong faces him with his tear-streaked face. Yunho’s features were bathed in kind compassion; his eyes gazing into his with concern and love, lips relaxing into a comforting smile, as if to convince Hongjoong with his facial expression alone that he will be alright.

“You _are_ a strong person, hyung. What you experience and what you feel is real. Healing takes time, but you’re not healing alone. I’m here for you, and I’m not the only one who is. My family, our friends - we’re all here for you, okay? Take your time, but you _will_ heal. I believe in you.”

His words had seem so… earnest. So kind and compassionate that Hongjoong wanted to believe him too. Yunho doesn’t let him go and Hongjoong can’t find it in himself to push him away. He feels grounded, much more than he was when he first woke up. The weight on his chest was still there, dulling, but not as heavy as it was before.

Hongjoong stares back, his glassy eyes scanning over Yunho’s face, letting the calm take over him. He swallows the thickness in his throat, a half-convincing smile twitching his lips. He nods slowly, breathlessly as he spoke.

“Okay.”

* * *

Despite Yunho’s concerned requests for him to take the day off, Hongjoong wasn’t Hongjoong if he wasn’t working. Work kept him busy. Even if he stayed at home, there was nothing much he could do but mope around. But Yunho was insistent on accompanying him on his shift, even if it meant skipping a class. Hongjoong wanted to retort but the words die on his tongue when he saw Yunho’s stern look.

By the time they got to the restaurant, Hongjoong was surprised to see Wooyoung sitting on the steps of the entrance, swiping mindlessly on his phone. When Yunho called out to him, the boy whipped his head up and bounced to his feet. He beamed at Yunho, but his lips dropped into a pitiful smile when his eyes met Hongjoong’s.

“Hey, hyung, how are you doing?”

“If I’m going to be asked the same question another five times, give me a heads up now and I’ll write ‘I’m fine’ across my head with a sharpie.”

Wooyoung snorted, suggesting that he had a black sharpie in his car if he wanted, but he was glad to hear the humour in his voice. “Anyways, Seonghwa hyung and I wanted to talk to you-“ he pointed at Yunho “-about the missing guy. We found out he used to work at your family’s restaurant years back. Mind if we ask some questions?”

Yunho glanced at Hongjoong for a second, but the latter waves a dismissive hand. After the talk they had in the morning, Hongjoong felt lighter. He was easing back into his normal self as much as he tried. At least he had the energy he needed to get through his day. 

Before he could step away from the two, though, Wooyoung tapped his shoulder lightly, stopping him. “By the way, Seonghwa hyung’s waiting in the car because he didn’t wanna startle you after what happened last night. But he does wanna apologise to you… only if you’re comfortable with that of course.”

Hongjoong would’ve thought his mind would be ravaged by assaulting thoughts. But surprisingly, his mind came up blank. All the anger he directed towards Seonghwa, he directed it to himself. He had lost the energy to feel angry, let alone to fight against his own desires to be left alone. He only let his eyes wander to the ground, nodding shortly before making his way into the restaurant.

Setting up the restaurant was calming. It was a routine Hongjoong could do in his sleep. His muscle memory did all the work, allowing him to fall into a rhythm played to the beat of the Prince song playing in his head. He shuffles to the other side of the table he was wiping down when he noticed Seonghwa through the frosted door of the entrance, hand on the handle but no motion to push it. 

On the other side of the door, Seonghwa looked hesitant, pulling his hand back and walking away, but pivoting his foot and walked back up to the door handle. For a while, he stood, appearing conflicted, then shaking his head and turning away again. But Hongjoong was at the door now, pulling it open before the other could take a step further. Seonghwa’s shoulders jerked in surprised, turning to face Hongjoong with his eyes peeled back in shock.

Hongjoong can’t say he didn’t feel ashamed facing Seonghwa now that he was. They’ve only encountered each other twice and this person had already seen him at his most vulnerable state. He shifted his gaze to the side, brows arched outwards and mouth twitched in sorrow. “Wooyoung said you wanted to talk.” Seonghwa opened his mouth to respond, but decided against it, pressing his lips tight and nodded. Hongjoong sighed, twisting his body out of the way. “Then take a seat. I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-“ Seonghwa started to protest but Hongjoong was already behind the counter, picking up glasses from the kitchen and making coffee in them. When he returned, Seonghwa watched him shyly, darting his eyes back and forth to his twiddling thumbs, as if unsure if he was allowed the eye contact. 

Hongjoong placed a glass in front of him and one in front of himself as he took the seat directly across the table. His eyes remained focused on the steam floating from the liquid, letting the heat burn his palms as he cups the glass. He blew over it carefully, bringing the rim of the glass to his lips and took small sips, coffee burning his tongue.

“I-“ Seonghwa starts, but the words get caught on his tongue. Hongjoong carefully brings his gaze to meet his. Seonghwa gnawed on his bottom lip, brows squeezed together as his eyes concentrated carefully on the words he had to say. “I haven’t exactly been… a great person to you. I shouldn’t have said those things to you when we first met and I shouldn’t have pushed you into a corner like that yesterday.”

Hongjoong picked at the skin on the tip of his fingers with his nail. He doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t, letting a tensed silence sink between them once again.

Seonghwa had still looked conflicted, filtering through the words he wanted to say in his mind. “I… I’m not. Good. With words. So the things I say always seem to come out differently to what I mean- but that’s no excuse for what I put you through. I- I’m really sorry about that.”

Seonghwa’s eyes finally meet his and Hongjoong can see the conflict behind them. His lips were twitched in a frown and features construed in a tight, desperate worry. He appeared apologetic; his gaze holding Hongjoong's full of regret and guilt. 

Hongjoong didn’t trust many people. But there was something in Seonghwa’s expression that made him believe in the apology. He had read up on the tells that would show if someone was lying, something he needed to know to learn to trust again. Seonghwa hadn’t showed him a reason he was. His steady breaths and eyes fixed on his convinced him he was telling the truth.

Hongjoong sighed, dropping his gaze and circled his finger over the rim of his cup. If Seonghwa was being honest, then he needed to be honest too.

“I believe you. I don’t know if I should, but I believe you. Experience taught me to question everything anyone’s ever told me, which is why our first encounter drove me to think too deeply about what you said. But you came forward twice to apologise so I want to believe that you’re being honest. Please don’t make me regret that.”

He met Seonghwa’s gaze, who only pressed his lips tight, listening intently and nodding quickly to him. Hongjoong glanced away, resting his back against the chair and breathed deeply. “But last night wasn’t your fault. When I… had a break down… it wasn’t because of you. It was because of what I was reminded about and that overwhelmed me, but that wasn’t your fault. So, you don’t have to apologise for that.”

This time, Seonghwa’s face twisted in a cycle of emotions. He looked confused, then frowning in concern before settling his features into something resembling in empathy. “It wasn’t your fault either. I’m not saying I know what you’ve been through, but I’ve seen that response before in my line of work. Something traumatic happened to you which you shouldn’t have had to go through, but I know you’re also not to blame for what it does to you too. Regardless, it was me who triggered it and I apologise for putting you in that position. You don’t have to forgive me, but know that I would _never_ put you in such a position again.”

There. 

There was that feeling. 

The same feeling he had when Yunho treaded his hands through his hair that morning. When he gazed softly into his eyes. When his words brought a special warmth in his chest.

Hongjoong felt comforted by Seonghwa’s words.

His gaze shifted into something lighter like the tension in his slouching shoulders. The smile on his lips was genuine, one that Seonghwa himself returned. “Thank you for saying that.”

Seonghwa’s expression finally relaxes, his lips twitching even further upwards. It was relief that washed over his face at the ease of tension between them. No longer did Hongjoong feel uncomfortable at the other’s presence. Now, he could see himself being around the latter more often than he had originally thought.

Healing is a process, and Hongjoong would be damned if he wasn’t taking the steps he needed to do so.

“Let’s start over then. Let’s be friends.” He stretched his hand out, waiting for Seonghwa to take it. 

Seonghwa stared blankly at the outstretched hand, looking unsure, as if he didn’t think he deserved to be friends with Hongjoong after everything he’s done to him. But Hongjoong remained still, shaking his empty hand to his attention with the friendly smile still playing on his lips. He resigned to the notion, putting his hand in his and they shook.

Pulling back, Hongjoong felt better. He wanted to heal. And it seemed like the people around him wanted him to, too. He looked at Seonghwa, who was rising to his feet, thanking him for the coffee and for giving him the chance to talk. 

“It’s alright. I needed it too... Now, when you go back out there, tell those two idiots outside it’s a frosted door. I can _see_ their ears pressed against it,” Hongjoong says, pointing to the two stiffened figures that had been there for over twenty minutes now.

The two bodies faltered in their steps, scrambling over each other to step away from the door.

* * *

Hongjoong appreciated quiet nights like these. 

Customers rarely came by on a Friday night, most choosing to have dinner with their families after a long week of separated duties. Business would be slow, but Hongjoong didn’t mind that. Instead, he quite liked the calmness. The distant sound of the crickets and the soft breeze adding to the serenity. Wintry nights were finally starting to let up. It was cold, but not cold enough to warrant a jacket. 

Hongjoong sat alone at a table as he worked through totalling the accounts in the restaurant’s ledger. He’s had a couple of rough days, so he thought it would only be fair enough for him to indulge in a huge tub of ice cream and a packet of hot fries while he was at it. 

He was lucky enough to dodge the closing doors of the fish and chips store around the corner, snagging the last box off the counter and handing over dollar notes to the irritated-looking cashier. The tub of ice cream, he’d been saving for a while since there was a sale on it weeks ago. Vanilla wasn’t his favourite, but eh, it was on sale.

He dipped his fries into the velvet texture of the ice cream and popped it into his mouth before flicking the salt off his fingers to hold the pen he was using to write. He had been going at it for about an hour now. Maths wasn’t his strongest asset so he _loathed_ dealing with numbers. But working- basically anywhere- meant that it was an unavoidable obstacle he needed to face, so he tried his hardest. 

But the numbers were beginning to blur in his mind and Hongjoong couldn’t find a single will in his body to continue. He groaned, pushing the book away and bringing his food closer to him. He dipped another fry into the tub and happily munched away on it when his phone vibrated.

 **yunho:** hyung hows it gg  
**yunho:** my senses are telling me its about time you’ve given up on accounting haven’t u  
**yunho:** don’t torture urself. leave it to me. besides I’m waaaay better at u in math

Hongjoong scrunches his face at the text. Curse Jeong Yunho for being right all the time. He decides against using words to retort, taking a selfie of himself sticking his tongue out like the child he is. The grease from his fingers slide across the screen and he grimaced at it, putting it on his lap to wipe it off using his pants.

In that moment, there was only the sound of distant crickets and the slow breeze in the air outside that he could hear.

But then, there was a shuffle of footsteps that caught his attention.

He swung his head, looking beyond the glass doors of the restaurant. It was near pitched dark outside, the street ahead illuminated by a single streetlight. His eyes darted between the cars that lined the side of the road and the crates that were piled up near the entrance. 

There wasn’t a single person in sight. 

But Hongjoong wasn’t a fan of uncertainties. He _knew_ he had heard footsteps. He got up from his seat, the chair creaking against the floor, and made cautious steps to the door. He doesn’t like the rising anxiety in his chest willing him to back out as he carefully places his hand on the handle. He steadied his breath, breathing in deeply to calm his growing nerves. 

When he flung the door open, there was no one in the immediate vicinity. He stuck his head out, turning his head from one direction to another, but there was still no sign of anyone else. Hongjoong doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or fearful, but he coaxed himself to calm down.

Maybe he had heard it wrongly. 

Maybe the sugar high was clouding his brain.

He was about to shut the door and return to safety when he noticed an orange sticky note taped to the front. He froze, blood turning icy. Unsticking it from its place, Hongjoong scanned over the writing. It looked familiar, like he’d seen it before.

_You make me laugh_  
_Let it happen again_

His heartbeat began to quicken, thumping in his chest. The chills that ran down his spine reading those words were indescribable. Who- Seonghwa? No. It seemed out of character to the person he met today. 

But then again, he didn’t know Seonghwa either.

He heard stories about him, met him only thrice. He was a detective; he wouldn’t do something like this.

_Would he?_

“Hongjoong hyung?”

Hongjoong leapt back in surprise, letting out a sharp yelp. His hands flew to his chest, the pounding within it rapid. His eyes blew open, desperately looking up towards the source of the voice. He felt a flash of cold through his limbs before regaining back its heat when his eyes land on the two familiar boys standing in front of him.

“Hyung, are you okay?” San asked, holding his hands out reflexively in case Hongjoong lost his balance. 

“We didn’t mean to scare you, hyung. We thought you would have heard us calling out for you when we were walking up the steps.” Jongho’s eyes scanned over his face in concern.

Hongjoong took his time to regain control over his breathing. It had only been the two of them. He felt relief wash over him, grateful even now that he wasn’t alone. Still, he looked beyond them, eyes dashing over the street shadowed in darkness. There wasn’t anyone else but them.

“Hyung, is there something wrong?” Jongho’s voice snapped him back to the present. He could still feel the fear lurking in his veins.

“Y-ye-ah,” he winced at his voice cracking, clearing his throat. “Yeah, you just caught me off guard.”

They didn’t seem too convinced by his words but Hongjoong quickly steered the conversation away, pocketing the note which he could see their eyes trailing after. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We wanted to get dinner here, is that alright?” San asked, lifting his gaze from Hongjoong’s pocket, eyebrow furrowing in concern. “My baby brother is finally back in town so I thought I’d treat him tonight.”

Hongjoong nodded, letting them in. He took one last glance outside before shutting the door. He would worry about the note later.

“What are you guys having? Our chef left for the night so we’ve only got tteokbokki and bossam on the menu. Maybe gamjatang as well, but I’ll have to check.”

“What’s that hyung?” 

Hongjoong trailed his eyes to the tub of ice cream with fries sticking out of it that San was pointing to. Heat rose to his cheeks, face flushing in embarrassment. He admits it was an unusual dessert that he used to eat growing up. It wasn't something that he shared with others, not that he was purposely hiding it, but it was more like a guilty pleasure that Hongjoong had kept to himself.

“It’s something I usually eat for fun. It’s weird, I know but-“

“Can I try it?” San had given him a look that was a mixture of curiosity and excitement. Hongjoong couldn’t find it in himself to refuse, so he nodded. San grabbed a fry from the packet and scooped up enough ice cream on it, Jongho taking his chance to do the same. His eyes lit up in delight on the first bite, moaning at the pleasurable taste and Jongho nodded his head in approval. 

“Hyung, where have you been all my life? This is so good!! How’d you come up with something like that, you genius.” 

Hongjoong blushed at the compliment, the initial embarrassment quickly turned into a sense of relief and maybe a little pride. “Actually, my mother taught me to eat it like this.”

At the mention of his mother, the two brothers pause. 

It wasn’t a secret, his mother’s death. Nor was his escape from his family home. It was something that all of them knew, but never talked about. A taboo. A conversation saved only for when Hongjoong himself would bring it up. 

Realising that they were quiet and listening, Hongjoong pressed his lips. “It was an accident actually. We were at the beach one summer and I had ice cream and she had fries. She wanted some of my ice cream but I wouldn’t give it to her. So she dipped her fries in mine and used it as a spoon, but then she really liked the combination and she made me try it too. It became our thing then. Ice cream and fries.”

He remembered the memory like it was just yesterday. The summer heat. The melting delicacy sticking to his fingers. His mother would take licks of his ice cream when he looked away, then turning back innocently to her fries when Hongjoong returned to his cone. He would notice the dip in his ice cream and the evidence on his mother’s lips and he whined. It was one of his favourite memories. Because it became the source of late nights with his mother, eating ice cream and fries after dinner while they waited for his father to come home.

Hongjoong didn’t realise the smile that had crept up on his face at the memory. Even after his mother’s death, the dessert was a staple comfort food whenever he needed it. Now that he revisited the memory, he was reminded of how significant the delicacy was to him. 

It brought him peace, once again. His mother always did.

“She sounds like a great mother,” Jongho replied softly. He and San held endearing gazes as Hongjoong took a fry from the tub and popped it into his mouth. 

“She was,” Hongjoong smiled in a daze. He missed his mother a lot, but sharing memories of her with these two made him feel better. He felt like his mother was still alive in his memories and that was comforting enough.

“Our mom would never let us have anything like this. Not good for the stomach or something.” San leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms and pouted.

Jongho took another dip. “She won’t let you, but she’d let me.”

“No she doesn’t. Why the hell would she?” San returned with an insulted look.

“Because she loves me more-”

“Wha- What a _liar_ \- _Hongjoong hyung,_ tell him to stop _lying_!”

“Truth hurts, hyungie.”

“Alright, listen here, you lil’ shi-“

The two brothers went back and forth, listing out traits about themselves that proved them to be the better son. Hongjoong laughed at the sight of the two. It was peculiar to him how two people, _so_ different, were actually siblings. San was older of the two, but he had a child-like persona; often easy-going and making it his lifelong mission to spread positivity with the people around him. Jongho, on the other hand, had an air of maturity that let him make decisions based on the reality of the situation. He was more of a realist. Naturally, they liked to go off at each other.

Even if it reduced them to be so childish together.

“Alright, you twenty-something year olds-“ Hongjoong teased as the two resulted to play fighting with each other. They paused, only to have San punch Jongho's arm and Jongho punching back. “How long are you gonna be back this time?”

San brought his chair closer to the table, but strategically putting himself out of arms reach of his brother. “I’m cleared for the next month. No workshops and shit. Only normal, day-to-day business. Which means a _whole_ _lotta_ _time_ to spend with my Wooyoungieee.”

Jongho playfully gagged (or maybe for real). “We don’t know how long we’ll be here. Depends on how the case goes. Seonghwa hyung is our team leader, so he gets to decide where we go from what we’ve got.”

At the mention of his name, Hongjoong stiffened. Jongho must’ve caught the look on his face because he asks if they’ve made up since the night before. 

The note in his pocket burns at the back of his mind.

“I’d like to think so.” He pursed his lips, carefully analysing what he knew now that his mind was no longer in a frenzy. “Guys, what is Seonghwa like?”

“Seonghwa hyunggg-” San rolls over his name, eyes glancing away in deep thought. “He’s like our mother. Not _our_ mother, but like, a mother to the six of us. He nags at us a lot when we were in high school. Always telling us to keep hydrated, sleep well. Made us sit down at the library together and study with him during exam week. Even now, he’d pop in a text in the group chat from time to time, asking us not to skip meals and shit. But he’s a hypocrite, though.”

Jongho captured the confusion in his face as he continued. “The thing with hyung is, he likes to take care of others, but he doesn’t take care of himself. Probably that's what that makes him such a great detective. He’ll run himself to the ground if it means he’s able to solve the case and bring comfort to the victims.”

“Yeah, but that makes him practically _married_ to the job, though.” San scrunches his face, not entirely in disgust, but more in frustration. “Which takes up a lot of his time. He barely has any time for any other social interactions outside of work and our circle of six. That makes him _terrible_ at socialising like a normal person would.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, recalling a memory. 

“One time, he was trying to talk to this girl he liked and all he kept on rambling about was how unique the pattern of her shoe print was which would make it easier to identify her if she was ever to commit a murder. It was amusing as much as it was _painful_ to watch.”

“The only thing murdered that day was our faith in him,” Jongho added, sharing the same pained expression.

Hongjoong grit his teeth, cringing at the story he’d been told. Even hearing it was giving him second hand embarrassment.

But Hongjoong would rather believe in this version of Seonghwa. He wanted to believe in it. He wanted to believe in the Seonghwa he had met earlier that day.

And he hoped to god he was right.

* * *

When Hongjoong got to the restaurant the next morning, he was surprised to see Seonghwa, hands in the pockets of his long overcoat, kicking at the dirt on the ground. 

“Seonghwa?” 

The said boy looks up, face lighting up at the sight of him. He leaned back, pulling out a hand to wave at him.

“Hey, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa smiles. It’s genuine. “Wooyoung told me to meet him here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Hongjoong shakes his head, but he watches him warily, walking up the steps to the frosted door. He jiggled his pockets for his keys, fishing out the ring of keys with a keychain of a dirtied hello kitty dangling from it. He was hiding the tiny doll in his hand, obscuring it from Seonghwa’s view (hopefully- he kept forgetting to take it off since it was handed down to him), when a phone- Seonghwa’s- goes off. He recognised the song. ITZY’s Wannabe? 

Seonghwa’s face burns a bright red as he hurriedly fishes his phone from his pocket. Hongjoong snickered, no longer hiding the dangling keychain. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. On the other end of the line, he could hear the screeching voice that could only belong to one person, rambling through his words like a bullet train. 

“Woo-Wooyoung ah, slow down. I can barely hear you.” Seonghwa tries, his expression falling, lips turning to a frown.

 _“H-Hyung,”_ the voice on the other end cracks brokenly, _“S-Sannie’s missing.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please scream at me in the comments.
> 
> Bonus points if you know what Ateez lyrics I used in this chapter :p
> 
> AN-EE-WAYYS
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! I'm going to take a quick break from writing since i'll be visiting my grandparents for the weekends (first time since covid started what!!) but i'll try to slip in time to write here and there. Bookmark the story so you know when I update if you'd like! In the meantime, you can check out my other works too!
> 
> As always, leave kudos and comments about your thoughts! I say this alot but it really helps me ALOT when i'm writing.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!
> 
> See you in the next chapter~


	3. so that no sorrow can come here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San is missing.
> 
> They will turn every stone in the world until he is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting! 
> 
> Please enjoy another chapter~
> 
> TW // MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE / MENTAL BREAKDOWN / MILD DESCRIPTION OF DEAD BODY

Hongjoong froze where he stood. The key in his hand sat in its lock but remained unturned. He didn’t hear it right, did he?

“Wooyoung, what do you mean San is missing?” Seonghwa’s voice was low. “As in-“

“As in he’s fucking _missing-“_ the voice on the other end seethed. “He’s not at his fucking house or his fucking store. I called his phone but the line is fucking _dead_. Hyung, I can’t- I can’t _find him.”_

Hongjoong turns cautiously towards Seonghwa. He had his brows furrowed in concentration, lips pulled tightly. His eyes squinted as he flipped his coat, pressing a hand to his hip. “Where are you now? Where’s Jongho?”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing now? I’m turning this town upside fucking down trying to find him.” Wooyoung’s voice sounding increasingly agitated but the worry in it was thick. “Jongho’s on his way to you now.”

“Then, you need to get over here too. We need to run over what we know before we even have a clue where to begin.” Seonghwa’s eyes were serious. He was impressively calm, keeping his tone firm even when Wooyoung tried to protest, the latter giving in and agreeing to be there soon.

Hongjoong tapped his shoulder when the phone call ended. Seonghwa turned, his pensive eyes softening when it landed on Hongjoong. 

“Is that true? Is San really missing?” Hongjoong’s voice sounded so small in comparison to Seonghwa’s firm voice. His eyes layered with worry and confusion, still trying to grasp the situation. “B-but, he was- he was _right here…“_

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, turning his body to face Hongjoong fully. “He was right here?”

Hongjoong snapped his eyes towards Seonghwa. The situation with San being missing still incomprehensible to him; they were just talking last night. How could he be _gone_ without a trace?

“San and Jongho were here with me last night.” Hongjoong was shaking. It wasn’t real. It _couldn’t_ be real. They were _just_ talking. _Last night._

Seonghwa gaped his mouth, appearing wanting to ask something, but he stops himself. He scanned once over Hongjoong’s trembling body, before slowly placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s talk inside.”

* * *

The air is thick with a suffocating tension that Wooyoung’s incessant foot tapping was the only thing keeping them grounded. The four of them were gathered there- Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Yunho. 

After Hongjoong called him on the phone, Yunho was quick to decipher the urgency in his voice. He packed up his things and left his morning class and Hongjoong couldn’t find a bone in his body to protest.

Not when fear was seizing through his veins at the thought of their missing friend.

In the time that he got to know all of them, Hongjoong had grown fond over their vivacious, yet thoughtful presence; he liked himself better when they were around. They made him laugh, cry, comforted him and given him a reason to wake up in the morning. They grew on him like an extra limb- and now, he was dealing with the absence of one.

The seat San had been sitting on the night before was glaring at him from the corner of his eye, his presence still lingering, as if he was still there and the idea of him being missing was nothing but a terrible joke.

Hongjoong had told them everything he knew- about how San and Jongho had come to the restaurant the night before, stayed for dessert and talked throughout the night. At some point during their conversation, Jongho had taken a call that demanded him to return to the lab to run some tests urgently, so he was the first one to leave. (Hongjoong didn’t miss the guilt flashing across the boy’s face as he relayed this.) 

After they had packed up and Hongjoong made his last round of spot checks, San insisted on walking him home. He didn’t have to; Hongjoong was more than capable of walking the route to his house back himself like he’d done so hundreds of times before. But San joked about not letting a pretty boy like him walking around alone in the wee hours of the morning. When Hongjoong offered him to stay the night or call for a cab, San blocked his own ears, already walking away after saying that he was Korea’s Usain Bolt and he would make it home in no time.

But he didn’t make it home.

“So San left your place roughly- 3 am?” Seonghwa asked, though it was more rhetorical, restating the facts to himself. “Wooyoung, you went over at 7 and he wasn’t there. The house alarm system never clocked in his return so- that leaves 3am to 7am, his whereabouts unaccounted for.”

“And the fucking street cameras don’t do _shit_. This town should burn to the fucking ground for their outdated surveillance system.” Wooyoung was _seething_. Worry didn’t even begin to describe the thunderstorm brewing within him. He was angry; any nodes of a dolphin laughter or a childish smile lost on his face. 

“Surveillance camera or not, my street doesn’t have any so it would’ve been useless anyways. He could’ve disappeared before he even showed up on tape,” Hongjoong added, and he could hear Wooyoung’s teeth grinding at that. The latter sprang from his seat, pacing around the space between the tables.

“Yeosang said they didn’t have anyone coming in from the clinic,” Jongho added, voice almost soulless. He had been leaning with his back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes shut, face devoid of emotions. “He and Mingi will stay there in case he comes in.”

Seonghwa tapped the map of the neighbourhood sprawled in the middle of them. Red lines and circles scribbled across the familiar locations in an organised mess. Seonghwa had his brows furrowed in concentration, gnawing on his lower lip.

“Is-“ Hongjoong started, heads turning in his direction. He paused, unsure if he should voice his thoughts. “Could this be related to the missing persons case? Is there someone going around kidnapping-“

Wooyoung pounded his fists against the table, making it and everyone else in the room bounce. His eyes darted at Hongjoong, gaze piercing through his chest, killing the words stuck in his throat. “Don’t you _dare_ act like you know what the fuck you’re saying. If it wasn’t because of you-“

 _“Wooyoung.”_ Yunho’s tone was stern with warning, eyes narrowing on him as if daring for him to continue. 

But Hongjoong knew what he was going to say. 

He was the last one to see him. _He could’ve prevented it._

Wooyoung leans forward across from Hongjoong threateningly, but Hongjoong doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t retaliate because he _knows_ it’s his fault. 

_‘Bad things always happen because of you.’_

He forces the lump down his throat, squaring his shoulders. He stared back at him pointedly, but a layer of hot tears were threatening to form. He wants to apologise- wants to let them know that _he knows_ he’s to blame. But he was dangerously close to breaking apart if he’d let another word out.

“That’s _enough_. We start pointing fingers, we lose time we _don’t_ have to save San.” Seonghwa’s domineering tone forcing the agitated boy to back away. Even in the elevated tension, he remained composed. 

“Wooyoung, you and Jongho take the street leading to his house. And these ones too. See if anyone’s got info-“ Wooyoung didn’t need to be told twice, grabbing his jacket from his seat, but Seonghwa pulled his arm back “-and _don’t_ jump to any conclusions on your own.”

Hongjoong had a feeling that the underlying message was not to _assault_ anyone that even dared to graze his buttons. Wooyoung huffed, shoving his hand off, already pushing his body out the door. Jongho followed suit, but Seonghwa grabbed his shoulder.

“I know this is hard on you too but you’re better at managing your emotions. Please keep an eye on him.” Jongho paused, staring hard back at Seonghwa, then nodding stiffly. “And Jongho.” He had merely pushed the door opened when Seonghwa called out to him again. Even Hongjoong had his ears perked.

“We’re going to find him.”

Jongho’s expression shifts, twisting into something darker. “You better hope to _god_ we do or Wooyoung hyung isn’t the one you need to worry about.”

The silence was deafening when they left.

Hongjoong’s hands were shaking violently where he placed them on the table, so he clasped them together and slotted them between his thighs. He steadied his ragged breaths, unwilling to break down like his body was pushing him to. If his friends can remain strong, then he will too. He wasn’t going to burden them again.

Seonghwa pressed his fingers on his temples, rubbing them in circular motions. “Yunho, he didn’t tell you anything about meeting someone? Clients?”

“Not any time at the break of dawn. Who the fuck’s awake to discuss _flowers?"_ Yunho’s tone wasn’t sardonic, more frustrated about the not knowing. He sighed, rubbing his tired face. He had got up at 4 that morning for school; Hongjoong can see the irritation in his eyes. “San gave me a key to his store. I can check the clients he’s supposed to meet with today and ring them up. See if they know anything.”

Seonghwa nodded firmly. The chair screeched in the silence as Yunho got up, shooting Hongjoong one last look before he left too.

Then, there was only him and Seonghwa left in the restaurant.

“I’m sorry.” It was all Hongjoong could manage, gaze averted to the stone pavement beneath his feet. But he willed his eyes to meet Seonghwa’s, no matter the glassiness in them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

For once since they’ve entered the restaurant, Seonghwa’s expression relaxed into something more concerned. 

But this wasn’t about him. This was about San.

Hongjoong swallowed the thick, scratchy lump in his throat that was physically hurting.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Hongjoong didn’t want to sound weak. But he _desperately_ needed to grasp at some hope San was okay. “If he’s been gone missing outside since 3am in this fucking frost, what’s gonna _happen_ to him?”

“Usually-“ he paused, contemplating for a moment “-usually, most missing persons are found within the first 48 hours. But that makes this time right now the most crucial. It’s been nearly 10 hours but I doubt hypothermia’s set in, unless he’s submerged in water or his body temperature’s fallen below 10 degrees. But if, like you said, we’re dealing with a case similar to Mr Lee, then the risks of San being in danger is even higher.”

Dread locked tight in his stomach hearing the unavoidable facts. He hadn’t felt dread like this since he was still living with his father. He dropped his head in his hands, mind dizzying as if he’d taken a drug. “But why _him?_ It doesn’t make sense. It’s too… too _random."_

“I-“ Hongjoong lifts his head. The worry deepening hearing Seonghwa’s voice falter for the first time. Uncertainty laced through the features on his face. “I don’t know.”

If Hongjoong was worried before, he was _petrified_ now. 

Seonghwa sighs, rubbing the tension from his temples. “I’m gonna start searching from your street and make my way down from there. Will you be okay?”

He won’t. Not until San is found. But he nods half convincingly anyway.

Seonghwa gets up, heading for the door, but Hongjoong tugs on his sleeve before he could leave. He paused, looking at him. 

“Please find him.”

The smile that slowly spread across his face was the same genuine smile he had seen before; the same one Hongjoong wanted to put his faith in.

Then, as the bell dinged when the door came to a shut, Hongjoong was alone, the restaurant feeling a little bit too big for his liking.

* * *

If Hongjoong wasn’t so distracted, he would’ve seen the customer approaching him as he carried a tray of the leftover bowls he’d been clearing up. 

His mind had been preoccupied with San; still accessing the deep canals of his brain for anything he could remember that would help. He’d only been replaying the image of San’s retreating back when he slams _hard_ against the person before him, spilling the cold remnants of the soup over himself. 

“What the-“

Thankfully, Hongjoong had reflexes quick enough to steady the tray in his hands before it could spill over the customer. He sat it down on the table next to him, apologies spilling from his mouth like the soup dripping down his forearms. He looked up at the customer, wanting to assess if he’d soiled their clothes, but a hand swung forward, slapping him firmly across the cheek.

A choir of gasps bounced around the room, another person from a far corner jumping to his feet, but Hongjoong isn’t so sure because he too focused on the stinging pain echoing across his cheek. 

He reached a hand to smooth over it, the shock still evident on his face. His ears are ringing but he can hear the clouded argument between him and- the chef? Everyone in his vicinity seemed like a blur, but he can make out the haughty customer in front of him storming out the door, leaving a trail of profanities in his steps. Another customer, shoving between the tables, took quick strides out the door, trailing not too far behind. 

Did he just cost them two customers? He had made a mess- the customers wouldn’t appreciate the mess. Customers won’t come back because he made a mess. And he can’t find San. He can’t keep customers and he _can’t find San-_

“Hongjoong, go home.”

The soaked tissues in his sticky hands were being pulled away- was his hands shaking? He tried to steady them with his eyes, flipping them as if it would stop, but then his eyes noticed the stained apron sticking to his clothes. He was a mess.

He was not going to like that. He never likes it when Hongjoong tainted himself. He was going to-

 _“Hongjoong-“_ Hongjoong snapped his eyes towards the voice. It was their restaurant chef, holding his trembling hands with frigid eyes. He’d done something wrong. “Go wait outside. I’ll call someone to get you.”

It wasn’t Yunho that came walking up the steps, approaching him with concern written over his features.

It was Seonghwa.

Hongjoong couldn't even feel confusion. His emotions were dulled at the moment, nothing but blank eyes as Seonghwa handed him a shirt he could change into. “You were still pretty shaken up when I left this morning. I told your chef to call me if anything happened to you.”

After Hongjoong made a quick trip to the bathroom to change into the fresh clothes, he dropped his dirty shirt in a plastic bag and walked back to where Seonghwa was waiting by his car, ignoring the nosy eyes that followed him. He stepped into the vehicle, not saying a word as Seonghwa drove them off.

At first, they had gone down his street, but Seonghwa had made a turn into a one-way street that was surrounded by nothing but gravel and tall grasses that crept over their heads. He stopped in the middle of the road and Hongjoong leaned his body forward, looking outside towards their surroundings. His mind suddenly becoming more alert than it had been before.

“Seonghwa, why-“

“This is the last place he was at that we know of.” 

Hongjoong’s eyes flew towards him, a short breath hitched in his throat. Seonghwa drummed his fingers over the wheel, focusing on the empty road beyond them. “There was a splatter of blood here that we sampled belonging to San. Judging by the amount, he’s not bleeding out, but there had been a struggle.”

There was a glimmer of hope that came with the relief that San might not be bleeding himself to death, but all that hope was extinguished at the thought of him being attacked- and quite possibly what they feared the most, _kidnapped_. Hongjoong could feel the rising bile making him nauseous. But this was good- right? They had a clue at least. Right? “If his blood was found here, then where could he be?”

Seonghwa huffed, eyes glancing down the road. “We’ve checked up and down this, and any intersecting streets. We checked for skid marks, empty houses, warehouses, alleyways. So far, nothing. But we’ve still got ground to cover. The others shouldn’t be too far from here either.” 

Then, Seonghwa turned to him, a sigh falling from his lips. His eyes were deeply creased in worry, but still, he attempted to smile. “He’s gonna be alright. We’ll find him. We have hope.”

They sat in the car with Seonghwa’s words echoing into the silence.

“The last time I had hoped for something…” Hongjoong paused, eyebrows knitting as he recalled. He remembered the feeling clearly, like a ray of light flashing across his chest. “Was the day I figured out that my life with my father was a mirage.”

Seonghwa listened intently, his attention convincing him to continue. Hongjoong picked the tip of his thumb repetitively as he spoke.

“I was convinced that the way my father was treating me was valid. Like I deserved it. Like it was _normal."_ He had to pause, steadying his breathing before the image of his father could burn through his memories again. “But it wasn’t. My life was being threatened and if I had stayed any longer, I realised I could lose myself before I even had the chance to do something about it. It was like, once I saw through the mirage, the truth had been so clear. The answer had just been lying in the wake. And that hope had led me here. To Yunho. To this life that I’m so much more grateful to have. So, betting on hope, it’s the best thing we can do.”

Hearing his own words, Hongjoong felt reenergised. Like his mind had been recharged by a new sense of perspective. He has hope for San. Like Hongjoong back then, they were doing all they can at the moment. And they will succeed.

Seonghwa gave him a soft smile, but the smile falters quickly, as a cycle of emotions blurred through his face. He shifts his body, looking out the window at the tall grasses that line down the street. “A mirage…” he mutters under his breath, but Hongjoong had been listening close enough to catch it. Before he could even form a question, Seonghwa was unbuckling his seatbelt, swiftly getting out the car. The curiosity grew within him; Hongjoong himself following suit.

He had merely shut the door when Seonghwa parted the tall grasses and squeezed between them, setting Hongjoong after him. “Seonghwa?” He followed the detective’s tracks, thankful that his cream overcoat stood out amongst the green. “Seonghwa! What are you-“

Suddenly, he stepped out into a clearing, a vast area of green without any tall grasses, but _fields_ of tall trees. They had stepped into a forest Hongjoong had never known existed. His surprise was short-lived as Seonghwa suddenly dashes towards the space between two trees just beyond them. 

Then, he saw it.

The funny umber jacket that had been playing on his mind all day.

“SAN!!”

He picked his legs up running, sliding next to Seonghwa as he held the frail head in his hands, shaking him carefully as he called out. Hongjoong scanned his features, eyes darting from the sweat mixed with blood sticking his bangs to his forehead to his pale lips, dried and cracking. “San? Can you hear me? It’s Seonghwa. Can you hear me?”

Hongjoong had never felt his heart beating as wildly in his chest as it did. Fear coursed through his body like a parasite, the adrenaline pumping to his ears. All of a sudden, they could see the pupils behind San’s eyelids shaking, shutting almost tightly, before rolling them open to meet their apprehensive gazes. “Hyung,” breathlessly, just barely a whisper that was almost hard to catch, San spoke.

At that moment, a rush of great relief smacked against his chest, heart almost popping at the motion. He looked towards Seonghwa, who looked right back at him and he choked on the amused gasp lurched in his throat. But Seonghwa turned his attention back on the limp boy when his head rolled dangerously backwards, setting a fresh wave of fear through them. “Sannie? San- Hongjoong call the ambulance- Sannie, you have to stay awake for me, buddy.”

Hongjoong didn’t need to be told twice. He whipped out his phone and thankfully, there was service in the area for him to make two calls- one for the ambulance and the other to Jongho, who was quick to put the call down when he relayed the location.

In the few minutes they sat waiting, Hongjoong noticed the patch of dried blood clotting on the side of San’s head, deepening the fear that was already assaulting him. Seonghwa was trying his hardest to keep the boy awake, slapping his cheeks with just enough impact to keep San’s eyes from rolling. Within minutes, Wooyoung and Jongho had torn through the patches, Hongjoong and Seonghwa giving them the space to be with San. Not long after that, sirens. A stretcher. Paramedics with bags of medical equipment tearing them from San, lifting him from the ground and pulling an oxygen mask over his face. They disappeared back out the grass walls with Wooyoung following close behind. 

It had all happened in a blur. Like as if someone was flipping through pages of a book. 

One of the paramedics had stayed behind, explaining San’s condition to them. At the words “mild concussion” and “he’s going to be fine”, the three of them visibly relaxed. The paramedic went on to say more about the treatment and the likelihood of San getting back up on his feet, but the relief was almost dizzying, like a vertigo rush that had Hongjoong taking a few steps back to let the good news wash over him. 

Out of a sudden, the back of his foot got caught in something… thick, sending him stumbling backwards and landing on his butt. The breath got knocked out of him as he immediately searched for the object he’d tripped over. 

His face paled as his widened eyes landed on it, his blood turning icy, pricking his skin as all his other senses drowned out.

It was a skull. With bones. Lined into the unmistakable outline of a human body.

And the bloodcurdling scream ripped from his chest.

He shuffled backwards, struggling to get as far away as possible, but his back smacked against the tree stopped him from moving any further. 

It wasn’t real. It _couldn’t_ be real.

This time, Hongjoong doesn’t stop the bile reaching his throat, flipping to his side to spill the vomit into the pile of dried leaves.

“Hongjoong?” The name escapes Seonghwa as he turned his head, eyes widening at the sight of the small boy throwing up his guts. But his gaze quickly lands on the pile of bones at Hongjoong’s feet and the confusion clears. He rushes over, carefully stepping around the remains, and kneeled down next to Hongjoong, soothing his back as the latter throws up for the second time. Yet, his eyes remained peeled on the dirty set of bones. 

Jongho walked over carefully, kneeling closely to the corpse as his eyes ran over it, inspecting. Dead bodies and mortifying skeletons were part of his daily job, so the discovery of the bones didn’t deter him. He narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips together as his mind shifted gears. Seonghwa knew this look.

“This person is a male and judging by the length, he’s about 6ft tall. His epiphyses here at his pelvic bone suggests he’s about 60 to 70 years old. There’s still underlying tissues at his fingers, so decomposing, but still in the process of skeletonisation-“

“Jongho, in words I can understand.”

Jongho snaps his eyes to Seonghwa and Hongjoong, who’d been wiping the remnants of bile from his lips and was looking back at him with glassy eyes. Jongho sighs. “Something tells me we’ve found our missing guy.”

Seonghwa pauses, gritting his teeth.

“And he’s been dead for more than a year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you may scream at me in the comments :p
> 
> Let me know what your theories are so far, they're really interesting to read. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments because they really really keep me motivated to write!
> 
> Thank you for reading so far and hope you'll continue to as well! :))
> 
> ps I usually post updates at like 1/2 am so pls excuse any grammar errors yea 
> 
> See you in the next chapter~


	4. precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As San recovers in the hospital, Seonghwa and Jongho delve deeper into the case.
> 
> In the quiet moments, like the calm before a storm, Hongjoong gets to know Seonghwa a lot more.
> 
> He may even make some discoveries on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about updating it tomorrow but I finished it earlier than I thought so woohoo! Sorry if it seems like a filler chapter, but I had so much fun writing some of the scenes hehe.
> 
> Also, thank you for all the responses. I'm glad that you're enjoying the story so far!!
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments at the end! They help me in my writing process.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy~
> 
> TW // PAST CHILD ABUSE (non-violent)

The strong smell of disinfectants, a mix of pine and lemon, attack his nose first when he stirs awake. Even through his groggy eyes, Hongjoong could distinctively pick out the outline of the gurney that took up an invasive amount of space in the room, only with the light located near the door keeping the room aglow. 

Hongjoong swung his body forward, twisting it both sides until he hears the satisfying crack from his back that were locked from his sleeping position on the couch. He vaguely recalls how he had struggled to keep the heaviness of his eyelids from pulling him into the oblivion, only when Yunho had nagged his ear off enough for him to take the couch and give in to the exhaustion. But, even with the time he’d let himself rest, his head still felt heavy from the fatigue of having such an exhausting day. He only had time to go home, grab his mail and tossing it into the fruit bowl with all his other unopened mail, wash up, then head back to the hospital to where San and everybody else was.

Instinctively, his eyes travelled to the unconscious boy, lying motionless on the bed in front of him, the only signs of movement being the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Hongjoong doesn’t know how to read the monitors, but the calm and pulsating beats told him he was alright, for now. There was a thick, long bandage wrapped around his head, locks of his black hair peeping out from the sides. Hongjoong wonders how much of his hair had been lost, shaved away for better access to stitch the wounds that pierced through his scalp. 

Mingi had come in earlier with a different doctor that was assigned to San, filtering through the medical terms for the rest of them. They all held their breaths, hearing that there were two blows to San’s head- one just on the surface and another deeper gash the length of a finger, but not deep enough to do any serious damage. However, they still needed him to ease off from the anaesthesia and heavy medicine and remain conscious long enough for them to fully assess if there had been any damages to the brain just to be sure. 

But the message had been clear.

San was alive.

He was going to be alright.

Hongjoong drew a hand over San’s. The boy’s eyes were still softly shut, face cleared of the dried blood and sweat he’d seen him in earlier. “You idiot. You scared us to _death_. If Wooyoung won’t kick your ass for scaring us like that, _I_ will.” He held back a choked sob with a humourless laugh, the faintest smile appearing his lips. “Thank you. For staying alive.”

Still no movement.

A sigh escapes his lip. Hongjoong removes his hands, now painfully aware of the pounding ache from the lack of regenerative sleep thumping against his brain. He moves towards the door, planning to go on a search for a caffeinated remedy. The tips of his fingers had merely touched the slot of the handle when the door quickly slides back, startling him. Wooyoung, who had been on the other side of the door, arched his brows in surprise.

The last time they were facing together like this, Wooyoung was prepared to snap his head off.

“Hongjoong hyung.” Wooyoung stated, his voice smooth and quiet on instinct, as if he was careful not to disturb the other entity in the room. Hongjoong offered a smile, but dropped his gaze to the floor, shifting between his feet. They didn’t leave on good terms, so the uneasiness between them made him feel awkward, guilty, ashamed. Wooyoung shifted his body, giving Hongjoong the space he needed to slip through, but the boy stops him before he leaves, lightly latching a hand around his wrist.

“Hongjoong hyung-“ Wooyoung inhaled deeply, raising his eyes to meet his, full of…regret “-I’m sorry. About snapping at you earlier. I was just so… so fucking _scared_ at the thought of losing Sannie. I turned that into anger and I lashed it out on you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it-“

“Wooyoung, it’s okay.” Wooyoung frowned, remorse clearly etched into the creases of his features. He wanted to hug the boy who he didn’t do anything that wasn’t unreasonable. And Hongjoong understood fear and what it’d made you do. “It’s fine. I’m fine. San is alive. Everything is alright now. Just catch the bastard who did this and we’ll be even.”

The expression on Wooyoung’s face falters and for a second, Hongjoong thought he had said something wrong again. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but he immediately shuts it again, nodding instead. When the silence began to creep between them, Hongjoong almost turned away, but Wooyoung called him again, stopping him with his eyebrows raised in question.

“Did you- Were you involved in this somehow?” Wooyoung asks, though his tone was kept light. He bit his lip, taking a deep breath as he crossed his arms. “I’m not accusing you its just that…” He pauses, staring blankly. “In the ambulance, when he was still awake, the only thing he asked was whether you were okay.” 

Confusion took over his own features, drawing his brows together at the news. He sank his head in, glancing momentarily from Wooyoung to the ground, trying to understand why his wellbeing would be on the top of San’s mind as he drifted out of consciousness. But he came up with a blank. _Why_ was San concerned about _him?_ “I- I don’t know.”

“Not at all? Did you guys have a fight or something?” Hongjoong shook his head. The night before, they were talking about their lives, deep conversations. If anything, they were closer that night than they were before. Hongjoong reluctantly shrugs, disappointed in himself that he couldn’t offer an answer. Wooyoung sighs, licking his lips, before nodding without meeting his eyes and disappearing into the room.

Going back to his previous quest, Hongjoong walked down the empty hallway but his mind was still stuck on what Wooyoung had told him. _Was_ he involved in this somehow? He turned down into a corner hidden between two walls, vending machines plastered to one side and tables with chairs and a long cushioned bench on the other. 

The clinic-slash-hospital was fairly quiet, residents of the rooms being the few local people who couldn’t afford treatment further from the neighbourhood, so it wasn’t surprising to bump into Seonghwa and Jongho, who had been sitting at a table, hunching their backs over cups of coffee and some papers. They had only glanced up for a moment to acknowledge his presence before returning back to the intense conversation they were having. 

Hongjoong placed a paper cup beneath the coffee dispenser and selected a strong coffee intense enough to keep his mind awake. He sat at the table next to them on the same bench as Seonghwa, blowing off the steam emitting from the cup lightly and watched as ripples formed on the surface of his drink. If Seonghwa and Jongho were bothered by his presence as they discussed their work, they didn’t show it, but Hongjoong couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“- so they matched?”

Jongho nodded, pointing to a paper with grayscaled images. “The DNA sample you gave me from his hair matched the tissues on his fingers-“ Hongjoong didn’t need to be told to know they were talking about the mortifying skeleton he had accidentally tripped over, shuddering at the quick image flashing across his mind.

“- which means that this missing persons case has just turned into a homicide.” Seonghwa pulled his lips into a tight line, eyes scanning over the documents in front of him. “And this?” He pointed to an enlarged image of a skull, a deep crack nearly splitting the scalp in half, and Hongjoong had made the mistake of glancing over it, almost regurgitating the coffee in his mouth.

“1.5 inch wide. My best guess is a sickle. The garden tool they use for harvesting.” Jongho pinched his brows together. “But hyung, isn’t this too similar? The gashes are deeper here, but the outline of it-“

“-Is the same as the ones on Sannie’s head.” Hongjoong whipped his head towards them, eyes blown at the mention of San’s name. “So we’re probably dealing with the same culprit? But what’s the connection?” 

Maybe they have dealt with too many cases that their reactions had been watered down by the fact that their _friend_ was attacked by a _murderer_ , but Hongjoong wasn’t letting his shock go unnoticed. “What do you _mean_ it’s the same culprit? You mean this murderer who killed the person you’ve been searching for could have _killed San?”_

They twisted their heads at Hongjoong, expressions unfaltering at his horrified reaction. Seonghwa picked up the image of the mutilated skull, scanning his eyes over the crack. “Most likely. But thankfully, San dodged his attacks well, so even if he was hurt, he wasn’t as unfortunate as Mr Lee. Remember to praise his taekwondo skills when he wakes up. That’s what kept him alive.”

Hongjoong makes a mental note of that, and possibly another to sign up for martial arts as well. He couldn’t imagine losing his friend to a psychopathic murderer- how _close_ he was to having that happen. His chest dips at the thought of that.

“But the thing is, hyung,” Jongho slides another paper from underneath and placing it on top of the rest. “Mr Lee was reported missing a week ago. His body has been decaying for almost _two years_. What the hell?”

Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek, question after question assaulting his brain. Even Hongjoong was puzzled. He hadn’t known the case in details but he remembered Wooyoung telling them that Mr Lee’s landlord had filed in the report after the missing person failed to pay that month’s rent. So _who the hell’s_ been paying it? Why did the payments stop? What did this have to do with San? And, if what Wooyoung told him had any reference to the case, did _he_ have a connection to this as well?

Jongho’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence. His expression falters as he read over the text on the screen. “They need me to analyse some samples in the lab.” Seonghwa sighed deeply, leaning back against the wall, letting the tension building up between them escape. “Go. We won’t get any further without San’s statement anyways. We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

The younger boy slackened, and Hongjoong finally noticed the deep, purplish lines forming below his eyes. There were deep creases along his forehead from scrunching them in concentration for so long. His wearied skin took the youthful glow from him, exhausted by the lack of sleep and food. Despite how composed he’d been since the start, Hongjoong’s heart sank looking at him so torn down by the weight of the emotions he’d been carrying all day.

Minutes after Jongho left, Hongjoong had been mindlessly swinging his legs, swaying his now cold coffee from side to side as Seonghwa continued working to his left. He felt like he shouldn’t go back to the room, wanting to let Wooyoung have some alone time with his boyfriend. He didn’t want to go home because it would feel too cold, too empty and alone to be in right now. Yunho had night classes that went on for another two hours.

Suddenly, an echo of tiny footsteps bounced off the walls of the enclosed space. 

“Ahjusthii, can I have thome coinths? I want to buy that.” Hongjoong lifted his gaze from his coffee cup and Seonghwa from the papers he’d been flipping through.

There was a little boy, eyes disappearing into his plump cheeks, standing before them, one arm clinging to a rag doll and another outstretched, pointing towards the vending machine. His gaze was focused on Seonghwa, lips pouting as the latter turns to Hongjoong in surprise. His mouth gapes as he stuttered a mouthful of “uhs”, digging into his pockets before pulling out a green wrapper- an apple-flavoured candy. “Mentos?”

The little boy’s eyes narrowed on the sweet, his eyebrows knitting together as his face shifted into more annoyance. Hongjoong had to suppress the urge to laugh. “Cointh. Ahjusthii, do you not have cointh? Hyeonbinnie wanth choco meilk.” He stomped his feet, urgently pointing towards the vending machine behind him as he huffed. 

Seonghwa’s lips frowned deeply, darting towards Hongjoong with panicked eyes, his face flaming up at the aggressiveness of the boy. Hongjoong bit his bottom lip, stopping them from spreading, but his chest vibrated the chuckles he couldn’t help but let escape. Seonghwa, who remained composed while dealing with a murder and a deadly assault, was frazzled at the hands of a boy no more than six years old asking for coins to buy a chocolate milk. 

He fished his own pockets, pulling out a few coins and dropping them in the hands of the little boy, who’d lit up finally after feeling the weight of the coins in his hands. The boy picked out his drink from the machine, thanked Hongjoong and blew a raspberry at Seonghwa before skipping away, leaving Seonghwa as stoned as a statue, disoriented from what had just happened. 

“Wow, you _are_ terrible with people.” Seonghwa’s expression falls into embarrassment when he turns to Hongjoong, who was snickering at Seonghwa’s poor interaction with the child. 

Seonghwa rubbed his neck, his face flushed after realising how flustered he had been. “I don’t… get out much aside from work. With work, I know my purpose well when I’m talking to victims, witnesses and colleagues. But outside of work… I don’t really know what to talk about.”

Hongjoong pressed his lips hearing that. He remembered San telling him about Seonghwa’s social awkwardness being the reason his friendship circle didn’t expand any further than the six of them- seven, now, including Hongjoong. Judging by Seonghwa’s fallen expression, the laughter died in him, sympathy replacing it as he realised how Seonghwa's incapability for social interactions had been weighing him down.

“Interacting isn’t that different to what you do at work.” Seonghwa lifts his head, receiving the soft smile Hongjoong placed on his lips as he spoke. “You filter through the information you don’t need and engage in the ones that interest you. For example, if I asked you what’s your favourite food, you sayyy..”

Seonghwa paused, thinking for a moment. “Umm… Tteokbokki? I don’t know. I don’t really care that much…”

“That's fine. Now, go on and ask me a question. Something that interests you.”

Seonghwa shifted his eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip before returning his gaze. “Do you watch dramas?”

“No.” Hongjoong scrunches his face. “I have the attention span of a goldfish and a sleep schedule of a sloth. Put me in front of a tv and I’ll doze off.”

He earns a chuckle from the other. 

“My turn, what do you do to relieve stress?”

“I… don’t really. Stress helps me keep going.”

Hongjoong looked at him in disbelief, the latter putting up his hands defensively. “Maybe from time to time it does, but over a long period of time, Seonghwa? You’ll burn yourself out! Are you that eager to have a head full of grey hair?”

“Well, what do you do to relieve stress then?”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

Hongjoong scoots closer to Seonghwa, shutting the gap between his thighs and patting it lightly. Seonghwa looked confused, unsure if the other was seriously asking him to lie down on his lap. “Oh, just trust me, will you?”

Seonghwa hesitates for a moment, before shifting his body awkwardly, lowering himself, hesitating once more, then gently placing his head on Hongjoong’s lap. His hands were awkwardly clasped together on his belly, face turned the opposite direction to avoid Hongjoong’s eyes as the hot blush crept up his neck. His posture was embarrassingly stiff, but then he felt tiny fingers weaving through his hair, messaging his scalp, and for some reason, the tension starts to leave his body.

“My mom used to do this whenever I was upset or angry or basically tired of everyone’s shit. Yunho does it too sometimes.”

“It’s… nice.”

“I know.” Hongjoong chuckled. “My turn to ask you something. If you have a hard time socialising, how did you end up with five obnoxiously loud extroverts and a Tasmanian devil in the body of a child?”

Seonghwa laughs, admiring the reputable name Hongjoong had given them. “Wooyoung and San approached me first, asking me to join their team in their game of basketball. I didn’t want to tell them that I’m terrible at sport, but they figured that on their own when I ran with the ball.” Hongjoong throws his head back in laughter, picturing the same frazzled Seonghwa running around with a basketball in his hands during a game. “I thought they’d never wanted to talk to me again, but surprisingly, they kept hanging around me, pulled me into their lunches, then pc games after school and the rest is history.”

Hongjoong smiled, watching the other reminisce with nostalgia twinkling in his eyes. In the short time, he’d known him, he’d seen the different sides to Seonghwa- awkward, composed, concerned, sombre. But this was new. The thoughtful expression made him look younger, _brighter,_ despite his wearied complexion. There was something about the way he looked, the innocence creased between the tiredness of his skin, that Hongjoong couldn’t help but feel drawn towards.

His fingers pause when he felt the slight bump against his heart, but he quickly muddled the feeling away, continuing to thread his fingers through the boy’s soft locks.

“What about you? How did you know Yunho?”

“Our mums were childhood best friends and they enrolled us in the same elementary school. We were around each other a lot and he became my solid rock- okay. Maybe my solid _mountain_ with the way he shot up like a bamboo plant.” Seonghwa laughed. “But then, my father got a job in Seocho so we moved right before I entered my last year of high school. We generally talked less, then not at all, until I showed up again.”

“When you showed up again… when you ran away from home?”

Hongjoong froze, breath hitched in his throat, fingers floating in place. When Seonghwa noticed the rigidity of his body, realisation hit him, pushing himself up to face him. “Oh, I didn’t mean to-“

“No, it’s fine.” Hongjoong inhaled, deeply, running a hand through his hair and straightening himself. “It’s fine.” It really was. He was fine with people knowing he had escaped from a broken household. But this was the first time he’d been asked directly to his face. He slid a finger to the tip of his thumb where it felt raw, picking on it unconsciously once again. “It’s just- my… father- he wasn’t always the person he is now. He was the typical, _‘love my wife, love my children, love my life’_ type of father.”

He remembered the days he used wait in anticipation by the school gates, hoping his father would make a surprise visit to take him home. They were close. His father used to take him out for walks along the beach coast, left work early to show up at his drama recitals, even bought him supplies of sketchbooks and pencils of every colour during the time he was interested in art.

“We were a happy, complete family… but-“ Hongjoong stopped. The thick lump beginning to form at the base of his throat. His heart always pounded thinking about it. He felt the slow, soothing movements of Seonghwa’s thumb over his hand, circling in motions. At the sight of his encouraging smile, Hongjoong continued. “One day, my mum was late, so I walked home from school on my own. But when I got home, there were these two officers at the door with my father, who immediately collapsed, hugging when he saw me. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that… that my mum was mugged on the way. And she didn’t… survive.”

A tear slipped passed his cheek but Hongjoong quickly rubbed it away. His heart didn’t shatter like it did for months after the news of his mother’s death, but now, it had become a dulling ache in his chest. He didn’t face Seonghwa, letting his gaze fall in the space between his feet, but Seonghwa still held his hand in his, rubbing the circular motions like it was the only thing grounding him then.

“For a few months, my father and I just grieved in our own ways. I went out a lot and he… stayed in the house the whole time. But then, he started getting overprotective of me. He didn’t like not knowing where I was or who I was with if he wasn’t _physically_ there with me, so he made me stay in the house with him. Then, he didn’t like not knowing who I was talking with online, so he took away my phone and my laptop. When I burnt myself while I was cooking us a meal, he panicked and packed me into my room, and then… that was my life.”

For months Hongjoong had endured that. For months, he had seen nothing but four imprisoning walls, metal bars caging him away from his windows, his only source of interaction being the late night talks with the photograph of his mother. His only escape had been trips to the bathroom, even though it came at scheduled times.

Lately, his father had been increasingly encroaching his thoughts, an unsettling feeling churning at the bottom of his stomach. But, he’s chosen to ignore it until now. 

Hongjoong was healing. 

_Healing. Healing. Healing._

He was _not_ going to let his father take every piece of him away again.

“My father’s paranoia of people made him keep me away from the world. I couldn’t do that anymore. I ran away the second I had the chance, and came back to the only place I’ve ever known...”

“Back here.” Seonghwa finishes, voice melting into a mix of concern and… anger?

Hongjoong laughed humourlessly, wiping the streamline of tears with his sleeves. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to spoil the mood and spill my whole life story to you-“

“Hongjoong, no. You never have to apologise for that.” Seonghwa’s tone had been firm, like when how he was when he was convincing Wooyoung earlier, but there was a new layer of comfort in them. He lightly held Hongjoong’s shoulders, turning him to meet his warm eyes. “You, Kim Hongjoong, are the bravest, most strongest person I’ve ever met. I’ve interrogated high-profile criminals before, but _none_ of them possess the strength that you have to carry all that weight on your shoulders and move on with your life. I wish I could take your pain away, but if you ever want to talk, I’ll listen. I’ll be here for you.”

Those words took Hongjoong’s breath away, which was weird because he always had something to say. Whether it was a sarcastic remark or a note of gratitude, it would have rolled of his tongue easily.

But he was speechless.

Unable to form coherent words to describe the warmth that engulfed him.

He had been comforted before, believing in promises to breathe the spirit back into his soul. But he had never felt as strongly as he did now, looking into Seonghwa’s eyes, those glimmering with the reflection of himself, as if Hongjoong was the only person in his world. 

“You…” he trails, eyebrows still arched as he stared. The two pause, as if frozen in time.

“Excuse me, sir-“ Seonghwa jolted, his knee knocking the underside of the table and startling the nurse that had popped her head in. He tapped his knees playfully, straightening his back, acting as if he hadn’t just shook the table like an earthquake with his knee. He gave the nurse a pained smile after she told them that visiting hours were over, leaving her ever eager to leave the situation. 

In all that exchange, Hongjoong snorted, before the peals of laughter escape him.

“My knees are fine, thank you for asking,” Seonghwa huffs as the other boy was in complete hysterics, but he couldn’t help the smile enveloping his face. “Come on, Spongebob, I’ll take you home.” 

* * *

The ride back to his house was comfortable. In fact, Hongjoong had never felt so safe. Being around Seonghwa for all the time that he has, Hongjoong was beginning to feel like Seonghwa was a safe place he could melt into- one that would be too hard for him to pull away.

He liked this. Being able to rely on someone else.

Of course, he has Yunho, his solid mountain, and that was never going to change.

But with Seonghwa… it felt different.

When they got to his front door, Hongjoong looked at him- like _actually_ looked at him. His bangs were as messy as they were when he first met him, like a veil over his eyes that held so much of… _everything_. A smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he thought. About how this was the same Seonghwa he was before, but this time, Hongjoong knew the person behind it. 

He leant forward to the tip of his feet, throwing his arms around Seonghwa’s neck and pulling him closer for a hug. The other boy was startled by the contact, but the surprise quickly eroded and he wrapped around him too. 

“You’re a great person, Seonghwa. I’m so glad I got to know you.”

Seonghwa chuckled behind his ear. “Even after scaring you when we first met?”

“Hey, at least you’re not writing me those dumb notes anymore.”

Seonghwa stiffens, his arms losing their place around him. Pulling back, he searches Hongjoong’s face in confusion. “I never wrote you any notes.”

This time, Hongjoong twisted his face, perplexed expression engulfing his features. “Yeah, you did. I have it with me. Here-“

He led them into the house, making a beeline to the jacket on his table where the note had been sitting in its pocket. He pulled it out, handing it over to Seonghwa. “The day we met, there was the napkin from your table. Something about shining and moths written in poetry, but I threw that away. This one was from the night I stayed back at the restaurant with San and Jongho.”

Seonghwa’s scans over the orange note with his brows knitted tightly, but the washed-out envelope in between his pile of mail he had threw on the table earlier was distracting Hongjoong, beckoning him to open it. He slid open the envelope that had nothing but his name on it and unfolded the paper.

_It always comes back to you._  
_Everything I do is for you._  
_My precious little treasure._

Then, it hits him like a tonne of bricks, crushing him under the weight and knocking the air out of his lungs.

_‘How’s my precious little treasure doing today?’_

_‘Don’t touch that. Wouldn’t want my precious little treasure to get hurt.’_

_‘Hongjoong, you’re my precious little treasure. Protecting you is what I need to do.’_

“-Hongjoong, these aren’t from me.”

They aren’t.

They were _all_ notes from his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UMM .. 
> 
> YEP.
> 
> Some of you guessed it right which was so cool to me!! Y'all detectives. I'm so proud of you :'')) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! Feel free to leave comments to scream at me, I will happily accept them.
> 
> On another note, I just read the news about Mingi's anxiety and I hope he recovers well from it. I'm glad KQ is doing the right thing and hopefully he'll take all the time he needs, but please leave him supportive messages if you can! We have each others backs, always.
> 
> Anyways, see you in the next chapter~


	5. sometimes, I get scared too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seonghwa tries to figure out how to handle Hongjoong's situation, unsure in the decision he makes.
> 
> San gives his statement, as harrowing as it may be.
> 
> But, with it, the cases blow open significantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update!!
> 
> I wanted to update earlier, but I wasn't feeling too good (check the notes).
> 
> Thank you for waiting!!
> 
> [ HEAVY CHAPTER ]
> 
> TW // TALKS ABOUT TRAUMA / DISTURBING DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE & STALKING

Seonghwa gripped his knees as he squatted, leaning against the wall. 

_"Seonghwa- He’s- Ha- He’s here- He’s here-"_

_"Hongjoong, slow down, who’s here-"_

_"My father! My fucking father! He’s her- He’s watching me right now!"_

He squeezed his eyes shut, thumping his head against the wall and letting the echoing pain vibrate through his scalp.

_"Hongjoong, no one else is- stop that! You’re hurting yourself-"_

_"-did he send you here? Seonghwa— are you here to take me back? I-I’m not going back- no- DON’T TOUCH ME-"_

_"Hongjoong, you’re- HONGJOONG-"_

“Hyung-“

“How is he doing?” The question escapes him before he could even scramble to his feet. 

The anxiety had been crawling through his veins since he had dialled Mingi for help, desperately rambling coherently after Hongjoong had collapsed. He tried slapping him awake, chest compressions, _ever_ _ything,_ but the lack of movement sent red flags to his mind. Thankfully, though, the latter was quick to come to his aid or Seonghwa would’ve driven them in a _dangerous_ rush to the hospital himself. 

He didn’t understand what was wrong. It couldn’t have been another panic attack. For some reason, this felt much _worse_. He had never seen Hongjoong in such fear, like he was being attacked by a dangerous beast, eyes darting rapidly around the room maniacally, clutching and tearing his hair like it burnt against his skull. 

Mingi frowned, smoothing a hand to tuck away his bangs. “Hongjoong hyung's alright. But his pupils were dilated and his heart rate was pumping like a machine on steroids, so I gave him some diazepam to calm him down.” His eyes trailed towards the unconscious boy on the bed, hidden beneath a layer of blanket. The frown on his face deepens. “It just seems like he passed out under intense stress, but that’s not normal, hyung. What happened?”

Seonghwa exhales deeply, eyes narrowing on the notes on the table. He gravitated towards it, picking up the letter Hongjoong had been holding before.

_It always comes back to you._   
_Everything I do is for you._   
_My precious little treasure._

His heart dived to the pit of his stomach.

“What’s that?” Mingi peeked over his shoulder, as Seonghwa shudders at the realisation.

“I’m trying to figure that out myself. He told me he’s been receiving notes. He thought they were from me.” He flipped over the paper, then roamed his eyes over the orange note. The thick lump forming in his throat was desperate to break out. “I think he just figured out who they were _actually_ from.”

_"Seonghwa- My father is watching me."_

His eyes blew wide open, whipping his head over to Hongjoong. “Fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Hyung, what’s-“

“It’s his father.” Seonghwa blurted. “That’s why he freaked out- He’s- His father found him.”

His hold on the paper tightened, crumpling it as he stared at Hongjoong, who was still sound asleep from the medication. It dawned on him, why he had a nuclear meltdown earlier.

Hongjoong’s father was a ghost that haunted him. Whenever he talked about him, Seonghwa could see the colour drain from his face, the way his lips trembled and his unconscious reflex to pick on the raw skin at the edge of his fingers. 

But that was what it had always been to the rest of them.

A ghost from his past. 

And now that ghost was real.

If his father had truly found him then… 

“Mingi, Hongjoong is _traumatised_ by his father. He’s still terrified by the memories of him. What happens now that he knows he’s still here?” The thick urgency and worry evident in his voice as his grasp on the paper tightens even more, digging into his skin.

The taller boy ponders for a moment, searching the ground as if the answers were somewhere there. “It’s hard to tell. Everyone deals with trauma differently. Some withdraw themselves. Some turn to paranoia. We don’t know until he wakes up.”

“And when will he wake up?” A new voice enters the room, Mingi and Seonghwa turning heads to see Yunho, walking in as he swung his bag to the ground. “If he thinks his father is here to take him, then he’ll do much worse than passing out.”

After calling Mingi, Seonghwa hadn’t missed a second to dial Yunho, knowing that he would be the next best person to contact. Yunho ran a frustrated hand through his hair, hearing the details of Hongjoong’s condition and the notes sprawled across the table. His hair was dishevelled and his shirt stuck out in places they were usually tucked in. He must have been just as distressed at the new discovery, dropping everything else he was doing to be here.

Seonghwa held his breath, his mind racing with the uncertainty of how exactly Hongjoong would deal with the stress. This wasn’t a matter that a few words could fix. This wasn’t something Seonghwa could plant a few promises and comfort messages in his mind to solve the problem. He had no idea where to start. 

Suddenly, he felt very, _very_ helpless.

“Hyung, judging by the way he instinctively almost pulled all the hair off his scalp, I think we should monitor him in the clinic. To make sure that he doesn’t hurt himself,” Mingi added, sticking his tongue against his cheek like he always did when in deep thought.

“We can’t-“ Mingi furrows his brows, tilting his head at the Seonghwa’s curt decision, but Seonghwa avoids his eyes. “His father kept him locked up in a room for months. We can’t do that to him, or even at the very least put him in a similar situation to that. I promised him I wouldn’t.”

He remembered the second time they met, how Hongjoong had crumbled when Seonghwa unknowingly backed him to a corner. How _broken_ he looked. Seonghwa wasn’t going to do that again, and now, more than ever, he couldn't break Hongjoong’s trust in him.

It was a promise he had to keep. 

But Mingi protested insistently. “Hyung. I don’t think that’s a good idea. We can’t anticipate his actions-“

“You’re making it sound like he’ll do something bad!”

“Hyung.” Mingi’s voice deepens, narrowing his eyes at him. “Think rationally. Hongjoong hyung has been building these walls to isolate the trauma from his mind. With this-“ he pointed towards the shrivelled letter in Seonghwa’s hand “- he’s beginning to realise that those walls are made of styrofoam and his reality has just been blown wide open.” The serious tone in his voice still evident, but upon seeing Seonghwa’s conflicted expression, he falters. “Hyung, I know you wanna protect him. But this might be something beyond your control.”

“He’s right.”

“Thank you, Yunho-“

“No, I meant Seonghwa hyung is right.”

The two twisted their heads at the blonde boy between them. He looked dejected, downcast eyes focusing on the open letter with lips turning into a frown.

“Hongjoong hyung was the shell of the person he is now for _months_ after he showed up at my door two years ago. His emotions flipped like a switch, only just as unpredictable as the weather.” He flinched at the memory. “The nightmares were the worst. In the moments he was deeply trapped in them… he just… he seemed like a different person. I can’t— I can’t bear to see him like that again. If we strap him to a room and keep eyes watching him around the clock, he’ll only see it the way he can- as he always has.”

The three of them ease into an unsettling silence. Yunho’s words hung heavily over them. It was clear that they all had wanted to do the best for their friend, but what _exactly_ would that be— if the circumstances were too complicated beyond their control?

Mingi sighs heavily, rubbing the tiredness from his face. “Fine. If that’s your decision, then I hope it goes without saying that one of you needs to keep an eye on him. At any time he shows any signs of being a danger to himself, you bring him in.”

The two nodded, but the nagging feeling, the uncertainty and fear that their decision would come back to bite them in the ass, was hanging over their heads. 

* * *

When Seonghwa woke up, his cheeks felt numb where he rested them against his arm. He straightened his back, recoiling his hands from the bed sheet. It takes some time, but his eyes adjust from the darkness of the room, daylight peeking through the blinds, to the sleeping figure before him.

He had spent the night by Hongjoong’s side. Yunho had told him to stay, not that Seonghwa himself could tear away from the house anyways. The taller boy had slept in a sleeping bag on the floor while Seonghwa rested with his body against the mattress, facing Hongjoong. 

The boy had not stirred once in his sleep, but maybe sleep was what he needed to alleviate the storm brewing in his mind. Seonghwa couldn’t help but gaze fondly at him, how innocently he slept. His hands travel to Hongjoong’s hair, weaving his fingers through the locks as he recalled the latter doing the same the night before. If it took his stress away, Seonghwa would gladly keep his fingers attached to his head until it did. 

Hongjoong releases a deep breath, melting further into the pillow. It made his heart skip a beat, seeing how relaxed he was at his touch. After a while, his hand falls back to the bedsheet, but as he pulls back, his fingers graze against something solid and smooth with a sharp edge. His brows knitted in curiosity, curling his fingers around the object and bringing it up to his face.

It was a photograph.

There was a beautiful lady, mouth falling back into a wide smile as her arm hugs around a smaller boy, whose ice cream's smudged from cheek to cheek. Seonghwa had to break the grin forming on his lips, the picture bringing a sentimental feeling he couldn't explain. He would assume that the little boy was Hongjoong and the lady would be-

“Eomma…” the raspy voice breaks him from his thoughts.

Hongjoong stared longingly at the photograph in Seonghwa’s hands through half-lidded eyes and downturned lips. He seemed calmer now; no sense of fear shooting up his veins or trembling hands grasping at his hair like straws. He looked like he was pressed into the mattress, limbs barely moving as he continued to gaze at the picture.

“I can see where you get your good looks from,” Seonghwa attempted to joke, the soft tug at the corner of his lips suggesting that he succeeded. “You love her a lot, don’t you?”

The photograph still looked new, preserved like a gem. It wasn’t creased or folded, but ironed straight. The only tell that it’s been held continuously were the grooves in the shape of two thumbprints along the bottom. Even with a photograph, Hongjoong had been handling it so carefully that Seonghwa was afraid of ruining it in his hold, so he set down next to the pillow, Hongjoong’s eyes trailing after it.

“How are you feeling now?” 

The other boy pauses, his gaze distant. Then, he frowned as he glanced around the room, propping himself up quickly, his head still turning as he searched the room. He tilted his head when his eyes met Seonghwa’s. 

“Seonghwa, what are you doing here?”

Seonghwa drew his brows together. “What do you mean? I was here with you last night.” 

He could hear Yunho stirring from sleep, groggily turning to face them from the noise they were making. 

The confusion was still etched on Hongjoong’s face. “Yunho's here too? When did he get here? Did I ask you both to stay the night or something? Did we have alcohol? I’m not allowed alcohol. My brain gets all fuzzy when I drink it.”

Yunho drew himself closer, settling next to Seonghwa now that he was fully awake. “I came here because Seonghwa hyung called me. Hyung, we were so worried about you.”

“Why? Did I do something last night?” 

Seonghwa and Yunho exchange looks, then carefully returning their gazes to the small boy in front of them. “Hongjoong, what do you remember from last night?”

Hongjoong twisted his features, scratching his cheek. “Well… we were from the hospital… you took me home… then…” he paused, hands flying to his mouth as he gasped, the other two tensing. Hongjoong’s face flushed a bright pink as he slowly turned to look at Seonghwa. “I suddenly hugged you, didn’t I?”

Seonghwa looked at him in disbelief. 

_He doesn’t remember…_

He’s heard of trauma victims blocking out unwanted memories before, memories too intense, their brains would refrain that memory from the victim’s immediate conscience. If Hongjoong doesn’t remember that his father’s found him, then…

“Yeah. You were waiting for Yunho to come home and I didn’t want you to be alone so I stayed with you. I guess I fell asleep here too, I’m sorry,” Seonghwa smiles, forcefully. Yunho whipped his head to turn to him, a questionable look adorning his face.

“Ah… haha… you don’t have to apologise for that. Thanks for staying, though. It’s nice to have someone over. This house gets too cold sometimes.” Hongjoong stretched his arms above his head, twisting his back until they cracked. He pushes the covers off, rubbing his face before muttering about needing the bathroom. Once he hears, the bathroom door click, Seonghwa scrambles to his feet, dashing for the notes on the table with Yunho right behind him.

“Hyung, what are you doing?” Yunho asks, whispering in fear Hongjoong would hear him. Seonghwa was folding the papers quickly and hiding them in his pocket. “Are we not gonna tell him?”

Seonghwa gnawed on his bottom lip, heavy breaths escaping him. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but instincts told him that if Hongjoong doesn’t remember, then he doesn’t _need_ to know. At least for now. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Seonghwa is silently relieved for the distraction, slipping the phone from his pocket.

“San’s awake,” he reads, eyes skimming through the text on the screen. “Wooyoung says he wants to give his statement now. I have to head to the hospital. Can you-“

His gaze tears from the screen to meet Yunho’s, discomfort lacing through his features. The sound of the showers come on with a low humming echo in the background. Seonghwa forces the uncomfortable lump down in his throat. “Can you stay with him? I know this could be too much to ask since you have classes, but-“

“Hyung,” Yunho intercepts, eyes darkening. “Hongjoong hyung is _always_ my priority. I’ll stay with him, but… hyung, what are we going to do with…”

The notes in his pocket feels like fire against his skin. “Let’s… let’s keep this from him… for now. At least until- until we can figure out what to do.”

Yunho looks nervous by the idea, but he nods anyway.

* * *

As he pulls up in the clinic parking lot, his mind was still muddled with thoughts of Hongjoong's situation. The heaviness on his chest doesn’t go away, even as he exhaled deeply. But as much as he wanted to help Hongjoong, he was still a detective working on two open cases.

He’s about to leave the car when his phone goes off, an unknown number flashing across the screen. He frowns, picking it up, but there was no answer on the other end of the line. He ends the call, but the number flashes again almost immediately and he rejects it with a frustrated sigh. He had no time for prank calls. Dropping his phone into the cup holder, he gets out of the car and enters the building.

He walked briskly down the hallway (almost pausing to glance at the corner where he had been with Hongjoong the night before) and turns around the corner leading to San’s room. When he enters, the rest were already there— Mingi, Yeosang, Wooyoung, Jongho and San. San had looked particularly healthier. The colour has returned to his face and the childish smile that was always there was spread widely across his face. If it weren’t for the bandage that hugged his scalp tightly, Seonghwa would’ve thought San was just the happy vitamin he always was. He admired that about him.

“Sannie,” the smile tugging his lips as he walks to the end of the gurney, eyes meeting the twinkly ones that warmed his heart. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a million bucks, hyung!” San grinned childishly, throwing his hands out. “I’ve been dying to hug you, hyung. I missed you.” Seonghwa laughs, coming closer to return the hug. 

Wooyoung pulled back from where he sat next to him, zeroing his eyes on Mingi. “Okay, what drugs is he on?” 

“That’s not the drugs, that’s just him.”

San smacks his boyfriend lightly, though Wooyoung pulls away dramatically as if it hurt. Seonghwa steps away, standing right at the edge of the bed, placing his hands in his pockets. He missed this. He missed his friends. “Well, I’m glad you’re well enough to kick Wooyoung’s ass because he’s been getting out of line lately.”

“Don’t worry, hyung. I know _exactly_ how to put him in his place,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and the rest groans, Wooyoung’s face inflaming and Yeosang exaggeratedly regurgitates. 

“Yep, okay, so I need to bleach my ears and he’s ready to make his statement.” Jongho glares at his brother from the far end of the room.

In a moment, the room quietens, tension slipping into the air, then Seonghwa asks the inevitable.

“Choi San, can you describe in detail what happened on the night of 11th October, around 3am, after you left Kim Hongjoong’s house?”

The smile fades from his face, turning sullen as his eyes unfocused, recalling the night. “This is gonna sound like the plot to a terrible horror movie—” He laughs nervously “—but when I was walking back from hyung’s place... I think I made it a street over... I thought— it was like— I felt like someone was following me and when I turned around—” His breath hitched and Wooyoung slipped a hand in his, squeezing. “—when I turned around, I saw this sharp thing coming at me so I-I dodged but— m-my head— he hit me.”

The room was thick with a growing tension, only the sound of San’s heavy breaths bouncing off the walls. Wooyoung shifted closer, pulling his hand closer to cup over it. “You’re safe with us, baby. Take your time. We’re right here with you, babe.”

San took his time to steady his breaths, raising his gaze towards Wooyoung, and he physically relaxes. “When— After I got hit, I fell to the floor and he g-grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me off the road, t-then dragged me t-through the grasses—“ he choked, a tear rolling off his cheek. “I-I was so fucking scared. I thought I-I was g-gonna d-die—“

Seonghwa frowned, lips pulling into a tight line. “San ah, we can stop here if—“

 _“No,”_ San snapped, his narrowing on Seonghwa. “No, hyung, you need to hear this.”

Seonghwa bit his lips, nodding for him to continue.

“He pushed me against the tree and g-got really close to my face and— I think the image of him will be burnt through my memory forever— but— he— he looked so-so _angry_ when he said—“ San stops, his eyes full of fear. “He said that no one’s allowed to take Hongjoong hyung away from him.”

Seonghwa jolted forward instinctively hearing this. He leaned his body closer against the gurney as the rest of them glanced at each other, confusion taking over their expressions. “Is that what he told you? Is that his _exact_ words?”

San nods, forcing the lump down his throat. “There’s more.” He wiped the running tears from his cheeks with his sleeve. “He- he said that hyung’s mind— and these are _his_ words— hyung's mind has been poisoned b-because of people like us. He called us a-a threat to hyung. He said that- that because the world is full of s-scum like u-us that hyung—“ he gulped “that hyung— tried to kill him.”

Seonghwa steps back like he'd been hit with a blow to his chest, mind dizzying as he tries to process the newly fed information.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was Hongjoong’s father. Hongjoong’s father had attacked San. His motive to ‘protect’ his son. That, he could believe. 

But Hongjoong attempting to kill his father? The same Hongjoong who threaded his fingers through his hair, giggled when Seonghwa made a fool of himself. 

That Hongjoong? 

His mind suddenly flickers to the events of that morning. 

How Hongjoong had forgotten about the notes. How completely different he felt when he woke up.

“He said that- that he’d been waiting for too long— that- that he was going to k-kill that spark and b-bring him home,” San continues to stammer, clutching the bandage over his wounded area.

Seonghwa snaps his head towards him, blood pumping at a blistering speed through his ears. He brought himself closer, leaning in with his eyes peeled back in urgency. “Is there anything else he said? What he was gonna do?”

“H-he knocked me out right after— I dont-“

“San ah, please try to remember. Did he give you any clue about his location? What he was planning to do to Hongjoong-“

“Hyung, I don’t-“

“San, please-“

 _“Park Seonghwa!!”_ Wooyoung shot to his feet, glaring down at Seonghwa with a warning. 

Seonghwa shuts his mouth, suddenly aware of how tightly San was gripping the sheets, heaving through quick, heavy breaths, his rapid heart rate picking up by the monitor sending Mingi shuffling towards a cabinet for a medicine. The guilt sets in, but before he has a chance to apologise, Jongho was pulling him outside.

“Hyung, what the hell?” Jongho hissed, shutting the door behind them, but Wooyoung locks a foot in, coming in right behind them and shoves Seonghwa harshly against the wall.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wooyoung sneered, gaining a few looks from passing nurses and patients. Noticing this, he backs away, willing his anger to tone down, but he kept his eyes tapered to Seonghwa’s.

Seonghwa drops his head, the remorse spreading through his chest. He didn’t mean to hurt San. He was just— in that moment, it felt like San could’ve answered every question he’d been struggling to tackle since he realised Hongjoong’s father was threateningly advancing towards him— and with everything that’s San’s revealed, how fucking _close_ he’d gotten.

“It’s Hongjoong’s father.” The other two paused, tensing up, not expecting those words to fall from his mouth. Seonghwa quickly ruffled through his pockets, pulling out folded papers. “He’s been following Hongjoong for a while now. He’s the one who attacked San.”

Wooyoung snatches the paper from his hands, reading over it with his teeth clenched. “This fucking bastard…”

“So-“ Jongho furrows his brows, reorganising his thoughts into comprehensible words. “My brother was attacked because he was seen with Hongjoong hyung that night? Why didn’t he attack me, then? Any of us?” He bit his tongue, not wanting to sound bitter. “Why not Yunho hyung? He’s the one closest to Hongjoong hyung.”

Seonghwa mulls over the thought. It was true that Yunho was the closest, but he’d been at school the night of the attack. San was probably the most vulnerable, walking down street that-

“Wait.” The other two redirected their gazes at him. “That forest. The one we found him in. No one knew it was there. It’s not on the town map either.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened. “Hand me your phone, quick.” Wooyoung fishes for his with the confusion stuck to his face. The elder makes a quick google search of the town, pulling up the map of it. “It can’t be a coincidence that we found Mr Lee’s remains at the same place we found San—” He blew up the image on the phone, zooming into the the shaded, unnamed area where they now knew was the forest.

“Shit.” Wooyoung cusses, the realisation dawning on all three of them. “That’s Mr Lee’s house just behind all of it. Fucking hell, the fucking bastard has been hiding there this whole time.”

“But I thought you checked the place out already?” Jongho asks.

“Well, then we’re going to need to make another trip. Jongho, go back to the station. Pull up anything you can find on Hongjoong’s father. Wooyoung, you’re with me. Let’s go.”

* * *

By the time they got to the house, the sun was just hanging over the horizon, yet, the structure looked bleak against its setting. They got out of the car, pulling up the police tape and bent below it, walking swiftly into the house. The area had been cordoned off for weeks even before they were assigned to the case. 

An area that kept people out. The perfect place to stay hidden in.

The door creaked as it did during their first visit. Furnitures remained where they laid in an disorganised mess around the room, untouched. The layout kept as it was the last time they came to investigate, but there _had_ to be more. Something they had missed. 

The two split up, walking around every corner of the room, picking up items then throwing them off when they appeared to be unrelated to their search. They return to the living room, frustrated by their lack of findings, when the floor creaked hollowly as Wooyoung took a step.

They glanced at each other before quickly stepping off, pulling up the carpet to reveal a door on the ground. Without any hesitation, Seonghwa pulls the door open, stairs leading down a dark basement they hadn’t seen in the house's blueprints. At the bottom of the staircase, Wooyoung feels the walls for a switch, flicking them on when he found them.

And then, it was nothing like they had seen before.

The walls were clouded with layers upon layers of papers and photographs of the town’s different locations, people and- and _Hongjoong_.

_So much of Hongjoong._

_Hongjoong, Jeong Restaurant, 20:35, 12/07/18._   
_Hongjoong, Saeho Street, 13:10, 09/10/18._   
_Hongjoong, Home, 02:45, 23/04/19._

Seonghwa couldn’t describe the disturbing feeling that clutched his heart.

Disgusted. Angry. But not fear.

Seonghwa was not going to fear a man so sickeningly twisted. The fucking bastard has been watching for years— and if he calculated correctly, since Hongjoong had even started to settle _two years ago._

“Holy shit, hyung.” Wooyoung gestured towards a set of photographs— pictures of them.

_He'd been watching all of them too._

Some taken a year before and some much more recent. Written below them, descriptions of their history, conclusions the sick man had made about the relationship between them and Hongjoong and their assumed ‘threat’ levels posted beneath.

Seonghwa tore his eyes away from the wall to a desk by a corner, piles of paper and mail neatly stacked accordingly, a stark contrast to the mess upstairs. A leather journal with the letterings LHS engraved into it. He flips through it, scanning through the details written in a lettered ink he recognised. He grabs the note from his pocket and laid them side by side; the handwriting identical. 

Surprisingly, written in uncanny details were a description of Yunho’s family. From his mother, to his father, to him and to the restaurant. He gathers that the reason why Mr Lee was targeted was because of his previous relation to the family while he was still working there and how close Hongjoong had become to the family. Seonghwa wouldn’t want to imagine the information gutted out of the poor man, seeing how detailed the descriptions were. He felt himself heat up, the room feeling increasingly hotter.

“Hyung, look at this.” Wooyoung brings two letters into his view, both coming from two different pharmacies judging by the logo stamps on the far corner of the papers. “Purchases. One bottle of item 4246 from Sado pharmacy. One bottle item AK291 from Bona pharmacy. They were made three days ago.”

Seonghwa tilts his head, scanning the papers. “Call them up. See if we can figure out what they are.”

“Ah, shit. My phone’s flat. Do you have yours?”

Seonghwa searches his pockets, but frowns when they were emptied of his phone. He searches his other pockets on his pants but there was still no sign of his phone. He doesn’t remember seeing it in the car while they were driving up here. “I- I think I lost it.”

Wooyoung tsks, shaking his head at him. “Hyung, I told you. You should be more responsible with your things—“

“Wait, Wooyoung, shut up for a second.”

“Hyung! So typical of you! Try to cut me off when _I’m_ lecturing _you_ —“

“No, Wooyoung, seriously— do you hear that?”

When they both quietened down, their ears picked up something in a distance. Something crackling. Like-

“Fuck, it’s fire.” Seonghwa makes a dash up the staircase, smoke filtering through the floorboards. How did he not notice this before? The air had fallen significantly thin as he brought his shirt over his nose. Despite the blistering heat and the ash entering his lungs, he uses all his energy to jam the door open. 

But it remained tightly shut.

“Hyung!!” He darted his eyes towards Wooyoung, who was covering his mouth with his jacket in one hand and pointing towards a small window scaling above the wall with another.

Wooyoung was quick to move on his feet, shoving everything off the desk just as a piece of the floorboard falls from the ceiling, missing Seonghwa by a hairs breadth. The fire had entered the room, burning through the ceiling with pieces of the floorboard falling like rain above their heads. Wooyoung lines the desk by the wall, climbing on top of it as Seonghwa grips it tight. The carbon burns his lungs as he coughs through his shirt. The glass breaks easily when Wooyoung smashes it with his elbow, pulling himself through the small escape amidst the broken glass. “Hyung, grab on!!”

Seonghwa reaches out towards Wooyoung’s outstretched hand, but a burning piece of debris drops right on top of his hand, and he recoiled his burning skin. But hesitation was a dangerously thin line- a second wasted could tip the balance between life and death, so Seonghwa reaches out again, this time, grabbing onto Wooyoung as he pulls him up. He could feel the shards of glass peeling into his skin, but he forces himself through the window, landing on the cool grass next to Wooyoung. 

They hack the dirt from their lungs as it burned like the fire before them, each breath of oxygen was like a refreshing blow through their system. Through his stinging eyes, Seonghwa watches the house going up in flames, burning everything that was inside. 

Burning all the evidence they needed.

He looks towards Wooyoung, who was still coughing up the last bits of ash, but they glance briefly at each other, sharing the same fatigued and aggravated expressions. Seonghwa clenches his jaw, balling his fingers before punched the ground, wishing rather strongly that it was a certain bastard he was punching instead.

* * *

The night had fallen notably quiet around the neighbourhood.

After a quick visit to the clinic (and past the horrified expressions of Mingi and Yeosang’s face, seeing their dirtied and bloodied states), Seonghwa had the strongest urge to see Hongjoong. It was a long, _long_ day. The longest day he’s had since he got here... and hopefully the only one he _would_ have.

As he pulls up by the restaurant that was lit up comically bright against the darkness of the street, he could see Yunho through the frosted door, rearranging the tables inside. But his eyes immediately travel to the small figure outside, his back turned as he stepped on his tippy toes to reach the blackboard that usually held the restaurant specials. 

Even in the darkness... even after a day’s workload...

Hongjoong looked as spectacular as he always did- apron hugging his small body that made him appear tinier than he was, his hair messed up in a way that was adoringly cute, the marker homorously big in his baby fists. 

He looked like an innocent child, untouched by the chaos that world brought upon him. 

The vision of him blurs as Seonghwa frowns, remembering the conversation he had with Mingi as he was patching him up.

_“He doesn’t remember? But, hyung, that’s a good thing, right? His brain is protecting him from the memories he doesn’t have the capability of handling right now.”_

_“That’s the thing, Mingi. He doesn’t remember the events that terrify him the most. So, what San said… about… about Hongjoong attempting to kill his father—“_

_“You think that he’s capable of doing something like that and not remember a single memory of it? It’s rare that something like that could happen… but it is possible.”_

_“… that’s… so, if Hongjoong really did try to kill him… but that’s…”_

_“Hyung, what are you trying to say? That Hongjoong hyung could be in danger—“ he paused, eyes darkening as he focused on Seonghwa's “— or a dangerous person?”_

Seonghwa refocuses his eyes on Hongjoong, who had noticed him staring from the car. He had his eyes narrowed on him, arms crossing over his chest, before he turned himself back to the blackboard, writing. 

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what he thought. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Maybe he was reading too deeply into things. Hongjoong wouldn’t kill his father. He’s dealt with murderers before, even serial killers in some cases. He knew the signs of someone capable of criminal behaviour. Hongjoong hadn’t shown him an _dust_ of having that same character. It was too incomprehensible. Seonghwa was overthinking this too much.

He looked towards Hongjoong who was pouting at him as he tapped the blackboard behind him. 

Written in bright letters:   
U CREEP. U CMG IN?

He snorted, unbuckling his seatbelt.

No matter what he thought, his resolution was clear in his mind.

He was going to protect this Hongjoong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guysss~
> 
> so, I don't know how to explain this well but, if there is a decrease in quality of this chapter, it's because it's becoming increasingly harder for me write. I had to take breaks from writing in general and focus on other things, so updates might not come as regular as it has been. I'm so sorry :((
> 
> But!! I'm not giving up on this story!! I still have much more to write on, only I won't be pushing myself so much as I have been. So, please forgive me if updates don't roll out as quickly. Also, can you believe it?? we're halfway through the story now?? wow!!
> 
> Thank you for reading it this far!! Hope to see you in the next chapter~


	6. i want more, i'm craving more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something the rest are keeping from Hongjoong.
> 
> Hongjoong was going to have to dig deeper to find out.
> 
> Though, he's not so sure why he's....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting patiently!!! It means alot to me to read all your support in the comments which made it easier for me to take a break before I continued writing. In return, here's an extra long chapter :)))
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I didn't put a label on Hongjoong's mental condition because I didn't want to generalise the experiences of trauma victims. This is still a fictional story and the events that happen are to move the story forward as well, so please understand, I don't want to offend anyone or put a stamp on trauma victims' experiences :(((
> 
> Other than that, hope you enjoy the chapter~
> 
> TW // DETAILS OF CHILD ABUSE / AGGRESSION

Seonghwa was acting weird.

It wasn’t the usual Seonghwa weird, though. He was getting used to the way Seonghwa being the type of person to lean against the door in an attempt to look cool, but then the door giving way, making him stumble awkwardly, but then standing right back up with a pained smile on his face with his hands in his pockets like that’d never happened.

That’s the kind of weird Seonghwa usually was.

But, no. This was different.

Lately, Seonghwa was _weird_ weird.

He was around Hongjoong a lot more often since the night he had slept over his place. For the past couple of days, he’d been waiting right outside his door, insisting on giving him a ride to the restaurant that was _barely_ a twenty minute walk away. Even when he was done with his shift, Seonghwa would be there _again_ , piling him into the car and taking him home. He wouldn’t mind it on those occasions where they would take a detour for ice cream, but it was really getting out of hand.

So, on a hot day, where he’s had to deal with an endless stream of aggravating customers, Hongjoong has had enough.

Seeing Seonghwa opening the car door for him just as he’d stepped out the restaurant, something flickered in him. An anger that had been building up for a while. He snapped, barking his head off at the boy who paled at his words. Maybe he went a little out of line, slipping profanities and making a scene where dining customers could see, but he didn't regret it since it was what it took for the latter to back off. Since then, Seonghwa had stopped picking him up, both from home and from work, which finally gave Hongjoong the space he needed to breath. But he knows, from the peek of his car’s front hood hiding in the line of parked cars, that sometimes, Seonghwa was always there.

And after all this, Hongjoong _doesn’t even know_ what he’s done to have warranted Seonghwa to act so weird.

“Hyung, you ready to clean up? We should be getting home soon,” Yunho calls out to him, clearing the trash from the kitchen to make room for more.

Hongjoong clenched his teeth. “Yeah, just give me a second. I need to clear these tables.”

Much to his distaste, it doesn’t stop there. 

The worst part about Seonghwa acting weird... was that Seonghwa wasn’t the only one acting weird.

_All of them were._

He saw less of Mingi and Yeosang wherever he went, and even when he did, Mingi would look at him with eyes so- so _scrutinising_. Like he was searching for something within Hongjoong he couldn’t find. Yeosang, on the other hand, would just stare at him, briefly, then offering a smile that didn’t match his eyes before looking away. San was, thankfully, the same as he’d always been. In his free time, he would go visit San, who was still recuperating at the clinic, and the boy would chat the whole room up, brightening it like it was his sole duty to do so. Yet, whenever Hongjoong would veer the direction of their conversation to the night of the attack, San would fall silent, either changing the subject or claiming that he was too tired to talk.

Wooyoung and Jongho had stopped discussing about their case whenever Hongjoong was around. Where they used to spread papers upon papers over coffee in their restaurant, the two would only occasionally stop by for a drink or a meal to go, stating that work at the station had been piling up. It shot a pang of disappointment whenever they did, because he missed having ice cream and fries with Jongho and he and Wooyoung and him beginning to bond over some of their favourite dishes or chefs.

Even Yunho.

Even his best friend was starting to act out of character around him. 

He was usually more laid back, taking things in strides even with his packed schedule between the restaurant and school. But for the past few days, it seemed like he got anxious easily, especially when Hongjoong would bring up about his cloudy memory, which flitted into his mind parts of his past that he had forgotten about but could not make a sense of. It was hard not to notice his change in behaviour, when he was around Hongjoong _all the time._

He didn't mind it much, because being alone in a single house was an eerie feeling to fall asleep to, but Yunho had been sleeping over his place more often to almost _always_. It's nice, not coming home to a cold, empty house, but it was also becoming increasingly hard to tell the difference when Yunho was attached to his hips wherever he went. He was taking shifts when Hongjoong had his, won’t leave the store unless Hongjoong was and walking too and fro from his house to the restaurant and back with him. He had even stopped going to school physically, saying that he’d transferred all his classes online instead and when Hongjoong would ask him why he would do such a thing, he would laugh it off.

_“Hyung, we have to be prepared for any situation. What if a pandemic breaks out across the world and we’re force to live our lives indoors? At least I’m getting a headstart now.”_

_“You’re crazy. Like that’ll ever happen.”_

Hongjoong loves his best friend, he really does. Yunho has done so much for him in the past two years than Hongjoong could ever repay him for in his entire lifetime.

But lately, it seemed like he was losing his best friend, and the person beside him was turning out more like a bodyguard than a friend. 

If this was some sick joke that all of them were playing on him, keeping him out of the loop of, then Hongjoong was going to _kill_ them when he finds out.

That was the conclusion he would come to as he stacks the dirty bowls onto the tray, wiping off any excess food scrapped on the table. At that moment, his phone buzzes in his pocket for the third time that day. Hongjoong doesn’t even need to check the screen before knowing who it was from, still, he sets aside the cloth rag and fished up his phone from his back pocket.

 **seonghwa:** Are you still at the restaurant?

Hongjoong tapped over the keyboard swiftly.

 **hongjoong:** yes.

 **seonghwa:** Let me know when you’re leaving.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. It just seemed so ridiculous to him that if they were all so concerned about him, then why haven’t they told him the reason behind it? Why now? If this was a stupidly elaborate prank on him, then he wondered when the fuck they would give it up because it was starting to get on his nerves.

He hated this suffocating feeling. More than anything in the world, he hated being watched.

He pockets his phone without a reply or a second glance, returning to pick up the tray.

But suddenly, his eyes capture a pool of blotchy, watery redness covering his hands, shooting an unexpected fear through his heart. 

He gasps sharply, instinctively tossing the tray that clanged loudly as he jolted backwards. The gush of burning adrenaline flashes through his entire body, rushing to his head as he drops his gaze, eyes focusing on his hands as he carefully inspects them.

They were covered in _blood_.

He turned them around.

Blood.

He turned them back again.

Blood. 

His breath quickens, mind racing as his ears start to ring.

_Fuck— wh-where was this coming from? What the fuck were they doing there? Wh-who’s blood was on his hands? Did he-_

His back slams into someone and he whips himself around, terror rushing through his veins like ice. But Yunho steadies him before he lost his balance, whose eyes widened at the sight of him, but the familiar face drowned the cloudiness in his hearing as Hongjoong feels himself floating back to the present moment. His heart was thumping dangerously in his chest as he hangs his head quickly, examining his bloodied hands.

But… but they weren’t bloody anymore?

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Yunho darts his eyes from Hongjoong’s face to his hands, which were shaking violently as he rotated them.

Hongjoong doesn’t understand. They were clean. Not a speck of the blood he’d seen just before. Just a handful of sticky soup from the bowls he was clearing earlier, but even then, the skin beneath it was perfectly pristine. Then, what the _hell_ was he seeing before?

Yunho guides him to sit as he took a chair directly opposite him. “Hyung, did you remember something?”

Hongjoong snaps his head towards him. Remember something? Remember _what?_ What did his hands bathed in the gruesome look of blood have anything to do with _him?_

But Yunho was looking at him, his brows were furrowed in concerned as he stared at him like he was being absurd. 

_Was_ he being absurd?

Hongjoong shook his head, slowly at first, then more convincingly, though he’s sure that his terrified expression did little to support his response. But Hongjoong _wasn’t_ being absurd. He saw what he saw. Even if he doesn’t know what it means— and he gets the feeling that maybe, he just doesn’t want to find out.

Yunho bit his bottom lip, brows knitting at the state of his hyung. He glances around, then glances outside, but Hongjoong was too far lost in his thoughts to wonder why. Slowly, the taller boy gets up, and for a moment, he remained still, then he slowly pulls Hongjoong’s head closer, resting against his body as he caresses his head.

“Hyung, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Yunho soothed. “Let’s take you home, alright? Don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up.”

Hongjoong doesn’t even have the strength to protest. He nods against Yunho’s body, swallowing the lump that was beginning to form at the base of his throat. He doesn’t fight as Yunho pulls away, making quick motions to clear the mess and grabbing the keys to the restaurant.

Maybe it wasn’t them who were being weird. 

Maybe it was Hongjoong who was acting weirdly.

* * *

The secret looks and round the clock watch has gotten to him _enough_. If his friends were keeping something from him— if they knew why Hongjoong _himself_ was acting this way, then it was his right to find out, even if he was going to have to dig _harder_ to do so.

He concluded that he had the best chance of extracting the truth was from the one with the loosest lip out of the seven of them— San.

So, he makes his way down the familiar clinic hallways he'd walked past a couple of times now already, turning the corner, when he bumps into a familiar face.

“Oh, cointh ahjusthii!”

Hongjoong looks startled, but the initial surprise quickly faded into something softer. “Choco milk boy.” He smiles, squatting to meet the little boy’s crinkling eyes before cocking his head. “How are you? Where you heading off to in such a hurry?”

The boy wrinkled his nose, his eyes almost pressed in a thin line that reminded Hongjoong of a cat. The smaller boy presses his small hands against his belly as it rumbled softly.

“Hungry?”

“Eomma thays Hyeonbinnie ith a growing boy becauthe Hyeonbinnie its alwayth hungry.”

Hongjoong threw his back in laughter, the innocence rolling off the boy so adoring, he could feel warmth spreading through his chest. Without hesitation, he reaches into his sagging tote bag, pulling out a red apple from the bunch that he brought and handed it over to the boy. The boy lights up at the fruit in his hands before throwing his arms around Hongjoong’s neck, pulling him in for a hug on the tip of his toes. 

“You’re the kindesth ahjusthii ever!”

The older boy was surprised by the reaction, his mouth gaping as a strange feeling washed over him. 

It was like… like he’d been craving for an interaction like this. Every exchange he’s made with his friends lately always seemed to be layered with calculated moves or cautious eyes that made Hongjoong feel so— so _foreign_. 

The boy pulls away and smiles, eyes crinkling so deeply, they disappeared. When he hears his name being called, he scurries away, the red apple hugging close to his shirt with one hand and waving to Hongjoong with the other.

“Lee Hyeonbin. Did you ask strangers for food again? I told you to stop doing that! We feed you well enough—“

The voice echoed down the hallways as Hongjoong watches their retreating backs, the outline of the little boy holding his mother’s hand tightly with his tiny ones as his mother lectures him, resembling a memory that creeped on the edge of his mind.

_“Kim Hongjoong! Stop bugging your auntie for more candies,” His mother chided, before squatting and putting her lips close to his ears, putting a hand over it as she whispered under secrecy. “More importantly, did get any extra for your mother?”_

_Hongjoong nods, a mischievous smile tugging his lips as the two hide near the door, dividing the sweet goods that they’ve earned after much planning. “Wow, I’m such a terrible mother for teaching you this. Aish, Joongie, why do you listen to your mother so well.”_

_Shrugging with his mind focused on the delicious lollipop enticing his tastebuds, Hongjoong’s mother softens into an endearing smile seeing her little son staring back at her with rounded eyes._

_“Joongie, thank you for being such a wonderful son to your parents. I hope you’ll treasure your Eomma and Appa as much as we treasure you.”_

When a tear he hadn’t realised had been building up in the corner of his eye escapes, Hongjoong wipes it away quickly. He straightens his body, exhaling the heavy feeling from his chest. He slides the door open and San perks up from the magazine he’d been reading, an excited grin adorning his face as Hongjoong greets him.

“Hongjoong hyung! No work today?” San chirped, ruffling a hand through his hair. The bandage was finally off, exposing the hair that’d been hiding beneath it, only a patch of baldness where the stitches were remained. San was recovering well, only days away from being discharged.

Hongjoong takes the single couch next to the gurney, propping a leg over his knee, facing San. “Nah. I thought I’d take the day off. Yunho has an exam online, so I had to clear the house and there’s no place I’d rather be than here.”

“Ooo, flattery will get you anywhere, Kim Hongjoong, but unfortunately, you’re a tad too late. I already have a boyfriend,” San smirks, making the other roll his eyes. Typical San. He smacks the boy on the arm, who recoils dramatically, gaping his mouth while rubbing the spot where he'd been hit. _“Hyung._ Attacking an injured person? In the _hospital?”_

“Good. You’ll have doctors to patch you up when I’m done with you.”

“Hyung,” San pauses, placing a hand over his heart. “You’re scary without Seonghwa hyung.” He chuckles, but Hongjoong squinted his eyes, his nose wrinkling at the name. Noticing this, San pouts, brows slanting. “Is there something wrong, hyung? Did something happen between you two?”

Something _did_ happen between them. Hongjoong just doesn’t know _what_.

He sighs, exasperatedly. “I don’t know what’s going on with him lately. He’s been acting so weird around me. He’s always checking up on me like something bad was bound to happen. I don’t know… it just seems… he’s been treating me like a child who can’t take care of himself.”

San frowns, yet maintaining the stolid expression on his face. “Seonghwa hyung’s just worried about you. He’s not the best at expressing his emotions. Then again, I can’t say that his actions are reasonable either. But take it from me, he’s just trying to protect you—“

“Protect me from _what?”_ Hongjoong snaps, feeling like he’s reached the end of his line. Yet, seeing the other flinch at his outburst, he felt guilty for snapping at only person who still treated him like a human. He squeezed his eyes, slumping his shoulders. “I just— I don’t _need_ his protection. What would I need protection from anyways?”

“From your—“

He flicked his head towards San, who widened his eyes and clasped a hand over his mouth. He had almost slipped. Hongjoong darted his eyes across his face, searching for the answers he’d been looking for. “From my _what_ , San? Is there something you need to tell me? Something I should know?”

The conflict brewed behind San’s eyes, head shaking stiffly. When the boy showed no sign of giving up anymore information, Hongjoong relents, making a mental note to push this further with Seonghwa.

Slumping his back against the cushion, Hongjoong sighs heavily. He didn’t want to express the hurt he was feeling, being secluded, being put at an arms length of everybody he knew. He’s had that feeling before; he never wants to feel it again. He doesn’t want to lose the close bond he has with his new friends, now whom he wishes he could stay with for the rest of his life. 

“Hyung, I’m really sorry,” San apologises softly with a heavy regret in his voice.

Hongjoong shakes his head sullenly. “You don’t have to apologise.” He reached into his bag, pulling out another red apple. “I brought these. But I’m not Jongho, so I’m gonna need a knife to slice them up.” He forces a smile.

San relaxes his features, nodding. “There’s one over there by the table. They haven’t cleared my lunch yet so take it.”

Hongjoong gets up, making his way to the table. He picks up the knife and turns around, but just as he’s about to slice a piece, his breath hitches seeing the knife in his hand. He freezes, eyes mulling over it like it was itching his brain somehow. Like there was a hazy cloud, blocking something in his memory he was trying to access. 

“Hyung?”

There was something itching, something teetering at the edge of his mind. It was almost tangible, just out of his reach. It was _killing_ him to figure it out the longer he kept his eyes on the blade.

But suddenly, like a flash of a photograph, his vision blurs and the knife and his hand had _blood_ on them. 

Blood that stained his hand. Blood that was going to be difficult as hell to scrub off. He was going to need to scrub it off before he got to the station. He needs to— he’s gonna—

_“Hongjoong hyung?”_

“Kim Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong snapped his head up, his heart reaching the base of his throat. His eyes strained, stinging, trying to make out the figure before him.

The man blurred in and out of his vision, but he's able to make out the chiseled jawline, the rough stubble left unshaven for days, the smile matching his crazed eyes that stirred the fear in Hongjoong’s heart. 

He was here— _He was here—_

_“Hongjoongie hyung, you’re scaring me.”_

“Kim Hongjoong. Did forget about me?”

The man all too familiar to him stood up from the bed, striding towards Hongjoong with that sickening smile on his face.

Hongjoong gripped the knife tighter.

_“Mingi! Mingi, get in here!”_

Hongjoong’s eyes were latched onto the man’s, watching carefully, his blood pumping through his ears, feeling like he’d been pushed underwater. He was ready. Whatever it was, he was ready.

But the man stops, just a step away, leaning closer and stopping right next to his ear while Hongjoong’s eyes trail along carefully without so much as a blink. He could _feel_ the man smile.

“Did you forget what you did to me?”

Hongjoong’s heart beats out of his chest when the knife is suddenly snatched away from him. He’s being grabbed by hands. Two hands. Four hands. He yells, pushing them back.

_“Get me 5 grams of diazepam! Now!”_

Who are these people? What were they doing to him? Why are they holding him down? 

Someone is pinning his arms on either side of the wall and Hongjoong doesn’t have the strength to overpower them. But still, he does his best to struggle and break free, veins popping out of his neck as he does.

His eyes widened at the sight of a needle, pushing down into his arm.

_They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him._

Darkness tugs the edges of his vision as he feels the energy sapping out of him, breathing getting slower and slower that it doesn’t hurt against his chest anymore. Hongjoong was losing strength in his arms, his mind clouding and hazing. Even if he tried to keep his eyes open, alerted and not wanting to give in to these attackers, his body betrays him, vision going dark before he passes out.

* * *

 _“Kim Hongjoong._ Look at the time.”

Hongjoong freezes in his steps, biting his tongue when he realises that he’d been caught. He tugs the band of his bag over his shoulder, slowly pivoting to face his father standing in the living room. His father’s eyes were on him, burning glaringly through his mind as the guilt builds in his chest. 

It was his fault. He’d lost track of time talking to his teacher about his art project that he had forgotten all about the curfew his father had set him. He bit his lip, readying the apology he’d rehearsed on the way home but his father stalks towards him. He stopped past the sofa that had been keeping the distance between them, crossing his arms with a stony expression.

“I told you to be home by 5. It’s almost 7 now!” His father berates, nostrils flaring. “If I can’t trust you to keep to the curfew, then I will have to pick you up from school myself. Actually, you know what? I’ll send and pick you up from school. That’ll be the safest option—“

Hongjoong snaps his head. “Appa—“

 _“Don’t_ argue with me, Hongjoong. Listen to your father.” With the way his father’s expression had darkened, Hongjoong knew it would be fighting a losing battle, so he keeps his mouth shut and nods, not letting his father see the scowl building on his lips.

The walk to school and back was his only escape from the house. The only time he’d been able to breath and release the tension and tears that had been pooling within him since his mother’s death. But the last time he fought back against his father, he had his phone and laptop taken away for his act of defiance. He knew better than to do that again.

* * *

Hongjoong enters the cold house with sagging shoulders, his father only a few steps behind him. He was tired. Of school. Of home. Of the routine his father had set for him. He wasn’t angry, or sad. Just so fucking _tired_.

He heads straight to his room, tossing his bag to the side, when he halts in his footsteps. There was something different about his room. It was much darker than it used to be. Hongjoong looks over to the window he’d always kept open and his eyes almost bulged from their sockets.

There were _grills_ on his windows. The ones like they had in prison.

“Appa, what’s that for?” Hongjoong peeked his head out the door, pointing towards the unpleasant sight of his window as his father glances up from the pile of mail he’d been sifting through.

“Oh, that’s for your own safety. We live on the ground floor. Anyone could break in through those windows you always keep so goddamn wide open all the time.” His father returns to the mail once again, reading over a letter sent by the electricity company. “I got them fixed so that you’ll be able to sleep without the fear of someone invading into your room and attacking you.”

It was stupid. So fucking _stupid_ that stupid didn’t even _begin_ to describe how stupid it was.

But there was no fight left in Hongjoong, because he was just so _tired_ that arguing with his father would just be a waste of his energy. So he shuts the door and heads to bed, the moon looking significantly bleak hidden behind the heavy metal bars.

It was a different feeling when he woke up the next day without the sunlight hitting his eyes like it usually did. The absence of it making the heavy weight in his chest even heavier. He swings himself over the side of the bed, groggily dragging his body towards the door, but when he tried twisting the handle, it doesn’t budge. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in confusion. He tries twisting it again and again, pushing against it with force, but the door doesn’t give way.

“Appa? Appa, what’s going on?” He bangs on the door loudly, fearing that something may _actually_ have happened while he slept through the night. He hears approaching footsteps and a heavy grip on the handle.

“Hongjoong. This is for your own good. It’s too dangerous to go outside. There are bad people out there and you never know when you’d cross paths with them. This way, you never have to.” Hongjoong’s eyes widened, sheer panic building through his chest at his father’s words. He couldn’t be serious. “You’ll be alright in there, son. I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need. You’re my only treasure and it’s my duty as your father to protect you.”

His fingers trembled as his hands fall from the handle, the disbelief etched onto his face. He leans his back against the door, sliding slowly to the ground with his feet collapsing beneath him.

This wasn’t protection. _This was prison_.

* * *

Hongjoong had lost count of the days. Every morning and every night seemed the same. The sun and moon would pass, then come around again, yet, disappearing once more to make room for the next. 

It was an endless cycle of a streaks of sunlight against his skin mockingly at his lack of freedom, then the moon sifting through the grids, laughing patronisingly at his lack of freedom.

He had forgotten how fresh air tasted against his lungs, breathing through the recycled air that suffocated him. He doesn’t even have the urge to leave the bed unless he absolutely needed to- in cases where his stomach had been emptied down to the last crumb that he needed to grab a bit of whatever food his father had been piling up at the entrance to stay alive. 

That day was no different as he continues to stare down the wooden shelf above him, unmovingly. His mind was blank of thoughts, because every taste of an idea, any stroke of belief he had about escaping, about leaving this place behind and starting afresh, was gunned down immediately when an image of his father presses into his mind.

But, this time, Hongjoong’s mind registered the black box peeking from the shelf. What was even more surprising was that he had the strength to prop himself off the bed, reaching up for the box and placing it on his lap as he settles back down.

The box housed many of Hongjoong’s things that were either trash or too sentimental to be thrown away. Once he sifts through the trash, his eyes land on a photograph that hadn’t creased a bit despite the way it had been tossed in there carelessly. But now, it was like striking gold. His mother had given the photograph to him for an art project he was working on and even when he had scrapped the idea, he kept the picture anyways. 

He sets the photo down carefully next to him and digs through the box again, this time, curling his fingers around a postcard with a polaroid taped to it. Hongjoong recognised it. It was the last postcard he had received from his old friend, Yunho. He recognises the tall boy, winking, with one hand showing a peace sign and the other holding the camera up to fit six other boys in the frame.

_‘Missing you so much, hyung! Told my friends all about you and they’d kill to meet the feisty little beast that you are some day. Visit us any time, Hongjoongie hyung!’_

There was an address written below it.

And for some reason, Hongjoong read over that address, rehearsing it in his mind over and over again. 

It wasn’t until he had heard the jangling of keys unlocking his door that he shot off from his bed, knocking his things over as he swiftly hides the postcard carefully behind him.

“Joong ah! Guess what!” His father swings himself behind the door, a thick pile of books in his hand as he shuts the door behind him. “Your school called and they’ve finally let you go! Now you can be homeschooled without worrying about leaving the house! I picked up some textbooks before I— Hongjoong... what do you have behind your back?”

Hongjoong pales as his father’s gleeful expression falters, eyes narrowing fiercely, forcing him to press his back deeper against the wall. His father tosses the books in his hands so aggressively that it boomed where they landed, making him jump a little. Hongjoong was trying to keep his breaths steady as his father advances towards him. Sweat was pooling from his forehead and washing over his cheeks as nausea built up in his throat. 

His father leans closer, the anger radiating off of him like the heat off a car on a hot day, and Hongjoong wishes he could disappear into the wall to get away from the face merely inches away from his. His hands were squished tightly between his back and the wall, but another hand swipes the postcard from his hold so forcefully that he’s sure he’d gotten a paper cut from it.

Hongjoong gasps, his blood turning icy as his father reads over the written message across the card. He could almost feel his legs giving out, the tension between them so suffocating, Hongjoong was convinced he was going to be crushed beneath it. His father sneers, the grinding of his teeth so prominently loud that it'd hurt Hongjoong just hearing it.

His father slams the hand with the postcard in it against the wall, locking him in place. His hand was just a hair's breadth away from Hongjoong’s ear and the latter jumps in surprise, terror gripping his heart as he stared fearfully into his father’s jeering ones.

“This kind of _shit,”_ he snarls, “is _exactly_ what’s going to kill you in the future. You don’t know this world, Hongjoong. It is full of _liars,_ criminals, people who value greed over other people’s lives.”

His father pulls away, not hesitating a moment to tear the postcard and polaroid into unrecognisable bits, but Hongjoong could only watch on helplessly. The threatening man steps away from him when he was done, the growing distance between them sending a fresh sense of relief through his system.

“Trust me, Hongjoong. Your life is safer in my hands. I am the only one you can depend on. Your father will protect you with his life.”

Hongjoong’s father slips through the door, shutting it with a loud bang before jangling his keys to lock it tight once more.

But when Hongjoong stared at the littered bits and pieces of the postcard and picture across his bedroom floor, his mind kept flashing the address that had already been engraved into the depths of his memory.

It was only an inkling.

Like a speck of dust— but it was there.

And for the first time in a very long time, he had hope.

* * *

Hongjoong feels like he was being crushed by a pile of rocks on his chest. His eyes fluttered open agonisingly, but his vision is clouded by darkness. His head was pounding with an ache of— of the memories that he had so long since forgotten, dampened by months of trying hard to lock them away. But he remembers them vaguely, though the memories were still hazy in his mind.

He forces himself up, elbows digging into the softness of… a mattress? Was he on a hospital bed? 

Sitting up brought a sharp pain shooting up his head, so he squeezes his eyes shut, grabbing his head until the ringing pain dulled. When he opens his eyes again, he looks around, inspecting the room he was in. He doesn’t remember much of what happened, only that he was with San before he…. passed out?

The sound of a vibration against the table next to him echoes around the room, the screen lighting up as Hongjoong grabs it. There was a barrage of texts lining the screen and he skims through each one of them. Some from San, some from Yunho and _many_ from Seonghwa.

 **san:** hyungieee are u awake now???  
 **san:** hongjoongie hyunnggg  
 **san:** text me when ur awake I need to tell u smtg

 **yunho:** hyung pick up  
 **yunho:** hyungie im omw  
 **yunho:** hyung i came by earlier but smtgs up at the restaurant i had to go but lmk when u wake up ill come get u

 **seonghwa:** Hongjoong, where are you now?  
 **seonghwa:** You said you’d text me where you were.  
 **seonghwa:** Hongjoong, I’m getting worried.

There were at least ten more messages from Seonghwa that were along those same lines, but there was one in particular that caught his eye.

 **seonghwa:** Hongjoong, there’s something I need to show you. I'll be waiting at your house until you come back.

He reads over the text again, sighing heavily. He throws off the covers and slipped on his shoes, hoping that whatever Seonghwa had to show him, it would clear the haziness in his mind and the hurt from his heart.

* * *

Seonghwa pulls up his car by Hongjoong’s house. The lights were off so he must still be stuck at the restaurant. He gets out of the car and leans against the door, the fresh air letting him breathe the tension out of himself. 

He hasn’t seen Hongjoong in a while, getting caught up with tracking down his father’s location (to which they would always come up frustratingly empty). But in that time, Seonghwa had decided that he needed to let Hongjoong know about his father.

How it was him who had been sending him letters. How his father had been stalking obsessively over him ever since he left their home two years ago.

Seonghwa just wishes he could have contacted the boy in the time he was gone.

Damn, he really needed to find his phone.

In the silence where the crickets screeched, Seonghwa's ears picked up the low hum of a song he knew too well. He furrowed his eyebrows. It couldn’t have been right. There was no passing cars or people, it was just him. He popped himself off the car, leaning closer to the sound to investigate it. He walks, every step he takes venturing further into a patch of bushes just behind the house, the music getting louder and louder as he dives deeper through the thicket.

* * *

Once the cab drives off, Hongjoong turns to face his house again. 

His cold, empty house.

He sighs when he sees Seonghwa’s car right in front of it, but there was no sign of him there so he makes his way up to the door. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked, so he guesses Yunho must have given him his keys just in case Hongjoong would be back late. Hongjoong makes his way inside, taking off his jacket as he scanned around. Still no sign of Seonghwa.

But he does pick up something in the air. Something like the smell of smoke.

It was coming from the bathroom. 

Hongjoong cocks his head, pursing his lips as he heads towards the stench. In the bathroom, the smoke pillowed from the sink, and when he leans over, a sharp gasp escapes him.

It was his photograph with his mother.

His photograph was on _fire._

He throws himself over the sink, instinctively turning on the tap to put out the fire in between his loud cries.

_No. Please, no._

His half burnt photograph is soaked, the parts blackened by the flame breaking away. Hongjoong whimpers, the tears blocking his vision as he carefully brings up the photograph, but it tears pathetically and the choked sobs fall like rain from his lips.

It was ruined. _Destroyed._

Hongjoong heaves through his heavy chest, his eyes stinging with burning tears, but he doesn’t get a chance to grieve over his loss because he’s coughing, gasping for the oxygen that the air had suddenly deprived him off. His legs almost give out on him but he regains his balance, slamming himself against the door before swinging it open.

The blood drains from his face.

His house was engulfed in flames.

* * *

Seonghwa sees the glowing light, smothered underneath a piece of paper. He kneels, picking up the paper and his body tenses, recognising the photograph printed on it.

It was a photograph of him, lying down on Hongjoong’s lap that one night at the clinic, the both of them staring at each other with a dopey smile on their faces.

Seonghwa’s heart would’ve fluttered at the photo… if he knew _who_ took it and _how_. As far as he knew it, they were the only two to occupy that space during that time. So… how the fuck…

The phone buzzes again the same unchanging tune Seonghwa had set on it since the song came out. 

His fucking phone.

He picks it up, the number unrecognisable to him. “Hello?” 

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Hello—“

“Nice to finally meet you, Park Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s body stiffens. He has never heard his voice before, but it doesn’t take a fool to know who it was.

The one who’d stolen his phone. The one who’d taken that photograph of them. He could feel the rising heat travel through his body, hearing the sickening man’s obnoxious laughter.

“What the _fuck_ do you want. Hongjoong? You’ll never get him.” Every word escaping him laced with intense hatred for the vile man on the other end of the line.

“Oh, Park. You don’t have to worry about that.” The man laughs and Seonghwa grits his teeth until it hurt, his hand crushing the phone in his hold. "You’ve done your part, I have to thank you for that.”

“What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean.”

“Thanks to you, my son will come running back to me like he should.” Seonghwa narrows his eyes, crumpling the photograph as the voice on the other end of the line taunts. “I hope you’re ready, Park, because you’re about to break that little boy’s heart.”

“What—“

The line cuts off just as Seonghwa hears the sound of wood collapsing. He whips himself around, his eyes widening at the glow of amber coming from the direction of—

_“Hongjoong.”_

Seonghwa doesn’t waste a second, pummelling through the bushes as they scrape against his cheek. 

_Please. Please let him be safe. Please._

He steps back into the open space, only to be forced backwards as he shields his face from the overwhelming heat engulfing the house in flames. He breaks through the front door, carefully stepping past the growing blaze even with the heat pricking his eyes. He brings his shirt over his nose, darting his eyes to find the familiar mop of curly hair when they land on him. Hongjoong was collapsed on the floor. The roof crackled above him as he manoeuvres through the inferno, the lack of oxygen burning against his lungs and the ghastly heat slicing his skin apart.

He slides to his knees right next to Hongjoong, flipping the boy over. Instantly, Seonghwa tears a long strip of his shirt, wrapping it around Hongjoong’s mouth and nose and flops the boy onto his back. Seonghwa has to squint, examining for the closest exit now that the path to the front door was made inaccessible by the falling debris. His legs are about to give out, the carbon monoxide in his lungs threatening him to the oblivion, but he plunges forward without sparing a glance through the small opening that barely fit the two. Once the cool are hits them outside, Seonghwa caves, bringing the both of them down. 

But he didn’t have time to waste.

He scrambles onto his knees, pulling Hongjoong with all the strength he had left further away from the crumbling building. Hongjoong was pale now, lips turning blue from the lack of oxygen, his heartbeat _dangerously_ slow. Seonghwa clasps his hands together, pushing down on his chest in several intervals.

“Come on, Hongjoong. Come on.” 

The sound of sirens come glaringly close to where they were.

After a few more compressions with the dread slipping into his veins, Hongjoong pulses forward, coughing up ash that had been pooling in his lungs and Seonghwa falls back in relief. The colour returns to his face the more the boy hacks and Seonghwa thanks every star in the night sky for keeping Hongjoong alive. He finally stills, letting himself catch his breath as he watches the smaller boy grasping his throat.

“Hongjoong, are you—“ Seonghwa reaches a hand out towards him, but the latter slaps him away, crawling himself away from Seonghwa like Seonghwa was the fire himself.

Hongjoong stares at him, a whirlwind of emotions reflecting within his eyes as he brings the back of his hand over his mouth to cover his coughs. He drops his head, shaking it, then returns his gaze back to Seonghwa, the disbelief and hurt laced in his eyes.

“My father was right.” He mutters, barely loud enough but Seonghwa had caught it. “I—I can’t— I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you all again for leaving supportive comments in the previous chapters!! It's helped me alot in my writing and gave me the confidence to write :)))
> 
> Quick fun fact, Hongjoong bumping into the choco milk boy was inspired by two things: Hongjoong's cute ass smile with the Fever Diary film girl and Hongjoong increasingly doing aegyo in all their recent broadcasts :p
> 
> We're a few chapters away from the end and I'm so excited to write the ending!! I've already figured out the finer details so all that's left to do is write!!
> 
> But still, thank you for sticking with me this far!! I will update as soon as I can :))) 
> 
> See you in the next chapter~


	7. hold out your hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he can't deny that it was his fault. 
> 
> He had promised Hongjoong that he would never put him in the same position his father had done so to him so many times before.
> 
> Yet Seonghwa himself had broken it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting!!
> 
> This chapter is pretty dialogue/information heavy. Prepare your brains :p
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
> TW // MUGGING SCENE / BLOOD / VIOLENCE

“My father was right. I—I can’t— I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

Seonghwa widens his eyes as Hongjoong narrowly side glances him, watching him carefully in between his desperate coughs for fresh air. 

Did he just—

“Hongjoong… what are you…” Seonghwa searches his face hurriedly for any clues, any idea of what the meaning behind those words were. But he doesn’t get the chance to ask anymore because the ambulance arrives, paramedics filing out to pull an oxygen mask over his and Hongjoong’s faces, tearing them apart from each other with Hongjoong disappearing into the back of an ambulance. The firetruck lines itself along the road as firemen ready themselves in position before starting their struggle to put the fire out. Some paramedics try to whisk Seonghwa away but he shakes his head, pulling the oxygen mask off and shrugging them aside to dash over to the ambulance Hongjoong was in.

What Hongjoong said…

He needed to know what he meant by that. 

But he was a second too late- the doors of the ambulance sealing him off and the siren comes on, driving them away. Seonghwa can only watch, bending over to cup his knees while he catches his breath as the retreating vehicle disappear down the road. 

He stands alone, the scene of the dying fire blurring out behind him, his mind focused on only one thing.

_“My father was right.”_

_“I shouldn’t have trusted you.”_

His heart sank replaying those words in his mind, eyes unblinking as he stared at the empty road.

_No… It wasn’t him. He would never betray Hongjoong like that. What made him think he would?_

“—hyung? What happened? What the fuck happened?”

Seonghwa snaps away from his thoughts, feeling the violent shake of his shoulders as his eyes delve deep into Yunho’s worried ones. He gapes his mouth, but no words escape. He couldn’t speak— words jumbled in an incoherent mess in his mind that he didn’t even know where to start.

The fire? How he had dashed in carelessly to save Hongjoong, who had been collapsed under the thick smoke of flames? The phone call with—

_The phone call with Hongjoong’s father._

Seonghwa darts his eyes towards their surroundings, twisting his neck to search for _that_ man. Besides the team of firemen packing up their equipment, the only ones there were him and Yunho.

Yunho hangs his head for a moment, exhaling heavily, before lifting to meet Seonghwa’s face. “Hyung, let’s go to the hospital. You can tell me what happened—“

“He’s here,” Seonghwa mutters quickly, not a moment to explain as he shrugs Yunho’s hands off of him, sprinting, circling around the compound and the house that had been reduced to ashes.

_He had to be here. He had to be the one who started the fire. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he was on the phone with Seonghwa right before the flames ignited. He did this. He did this and he was here—_

Seonghwa stumbles, losing the strength in his legs from the exhaustion, but Yunho catches him before his face could meet the dirt. He breathes heavily, eyes still scanning around the area, searching so _desperately_ for the mastermind behind the unfolding catastrophe, but his head feels heavy, drooping without his obligation.

“Hyung, I’m taking you to the hospital. Give me your keys.” Yunho doesn't wait for a response, fishing his pockets and pulling out the ring that housed his car keys. He tugs Seonghwa over his shoulders, having to drag the both of them towards his car because Seonghwa’s legs had completely given out.

But Seonghwa couldn’t leave. Not when _he’s_ still here. 

He’s _so close_. Seonghwa knew it. He had to be.

Seonghwa could put Hongjoong out of his misery. He could put an end to it _now_.

But as soon as his back hits the leather seats, the oblivion behind his eyelids overwhelms him, knocking him out cold.

* * *

“Hyung, what the hell are you doing?”

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, Seonghwa could hear the uncapping of a marker and the shifting of footsteps.

“Seonghwa hyung’s been so stressed lately. Maybe he just needs to chill a little.”

He recognises the voice as the devil spawn in his life and he knows it’s his cue to get up. He cracks his eyelids open, the bright light attacking his eyes mercilessly, forcing him to bring a hand to shield himself. He groans, tilting his head to see Wooyoung pouting, capping the marker in his hand and putting it away. 

“Hyung, you’re awake. Are you alright?” Jongho steps into his view, his eyebrows creased in worry. “You were knocked out for half the day.”

Half the day? 

_Hongjoong_.

Seonghwa catapults his body forward. “H-Hongjoong. I-Is he—“ He turns his head towards the door, but the other two in the room were quick to notice, pushing him back down to the bed.

“Hyung, he’s fine. _You_ need to rest,” Wooyoung presses, blocking his view of the door.

“Hyung, you’ve been running on fumes all week. Hongjoong hyung’s sleeping a few rooms down.” Jongho holds him down, pulling the covers back onto him. “You can see him later.”

Despite being older, Seonghwa had no chance of overpowering Jongho, so he gives up easily. Instead, he grabbed his phone that he noticed was on the table next to him, unlocking through the cracked screen and searching through the list of calls.

“Seonghwa hyung, are you gonna tell us what happened?” Jongho asks, crossing his arms as Seonghwa clicks on the most recent unknown number, only to hear the incessant beeping of a dead line. He chews his bottom lip, swallowing hard, the rigid expression carved deep into his features. 

He clicks on the messaging app, eyes bulging when he scrolls through the long list of text messages sent to Hongjoong on his phone. 

Messages that weren’t sent by him.

“Shit,” he curses, jerking his body forward as he reads through them. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Hyung, I thought you lost your phone?” Wooyoung narrows his brows, peeking over his shoulder to see the screen and Jongho does the same. Their eyes widened at the onslaught of texts posing under 'Seonghwa' with disturbingly obsessive messages _pummelling_ Hongjoong’s number.

Seonghwa rips the covers off his body, and this time, no one stops him. He tears the IV tube from his hand and propels himself off the bed, stumbling a little before regaining his balance, limping over to the door.

_It wasn’t me. Hongjoong, it’s not me._

He jogs briskly down the long hallway, eyes darting with quick glances for Hongjoong’s name on a placard, biting his lips.

His heart pangs in his chest when the realisation became clear in his mind by what Hongjoong meant about not trusting him. 

He had been so caught up in doing what he could, thinking that he was protecting Hongjoong. He had kept Hongjoong at an arms length, watching over him like a hawk just to make sure his father wouldn’t try approaching him. And when the man contacted him using Seonghwa’s name, Hongjoong would make the only obvious assumption to what Seonghwa was doing.

Seonghwa was suffocating him just like his father had.

And he can't deny that it was his fault. 

He had promised Hongjoong that he would never put him in the same position his father had done so to him so many times before.

Yet Seonghwa himself had broken it.

He stops abruptly, the letters spelling ‘Kim Hongjoong’ glaring at him by the door as he slides it open, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. “Hongjoong, I—“

But the room was empty.

His eyes scanned the room quickly; the bed was unmade with the covers falling off and the window was open with the curtains flailing against the wind. His heart sinks, the only clear explanation crossing his mind, but Seonghwa doesn’t want to assume the worst. He dashes to the built-in bathroom, hoping to _god_ it was locked, but it his chest dips when the door swings open so easily with no one in sight.

Right then, Seonghwa’s worst fears have been realised.

Hongjoong was _gone_.

* * *

The pixelated screen showed Hongjoong leaving his bed, changed into the clothes he came in with. He pulled a mask and his hoodie over his head and slipped out through the window. On a different camera angle, he walks hurriedly in a direction the cameras don’t catch him in. 

Wooyoung pulls the iPad away, clicking his tongue. Seonghwa lowered his head, chewing on his bottom lip as Jongho leans back into his chair, rotating the tension from his shoulders. Yunho walks up to their table, placing down their cups of coffee before disappearing back into the kitchen without a word.

The restaurant was fairly empty, just the three of them with Yunho manning the place on his own occupying the space. Since the discovery of Lee Hyunshik’s remains and the two fires in the neighbourhood, residents were becoming increasingly fearful of leaving their houses, the streets becoming scarce of the people who used to roam them.

“So, let me get this straight,” Wooyoung pauses, staring at Seonghwa with calculative eyes. “You went to Hongjoong hyung’s house because you wanted to tell him about the notes you were hiding from him, but then you found your phone that got stolen somewhere in the bushes, and when you picked it up, it was Hongjoong’s father on the other end of the line? _Shit."_

Seonghwa nodded, clenching his teeth and balling his fists. “He set it up. He knew I was coming.”

And he was so _fucking stupid_ for walking right into his trap.

“So, he framed you for arson and manipulated Hongjoong hyung into thinking that it was you.” Jongho states, his brows furrowing, putting a finger to his chin. “This bastard has always been one step ahead of us.”

Yunho reappears wiping down the table next to them expressionlessly, aggressively squeaking the rag against the surface. 

“Fucking hell,” Wooyoung mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, but then where the hell is Hongjoong hyung now?”

The room fell silent, even the squeaking rag halted in its movements, Yunho turning his head slightly to glance at Seonghwa, but the latter throws his head in his hands, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. He can’t give them an answer because he _doesn’t know_. He had been calling Hongjoong’s number relentlessly since they left the hospital, but the only response he would get was the annoyingly perky telephone operator informing him that Hongjoong had turned off his cell. Disappointedly, he shakes his head and the squeaking rag resumes, albeit further away from them.

Wooyoung’s phone buzzes and he steps away to answer the call. In the meantime, Jongho pulls his brows together, monitoring Seonghwa in concern. It was rare that he would feel worried for their team leader. 

Seonghwa had always been the most composed one in the team when dealing with a case. He held his emotions together well and was usually clear headed in giving answers and instructions to the rest of their team, naming him one of the most professional detectives in their agency despite his young age. But, when it came to Hongjoong, it seemed like the emotions clouding him were way beyond his control. 

At first, Jongho didn’t understand it— how Hongjoong, being the victim of this case, was clouding Seonghwa’s judgement, putting hesitation in every step he took and chewing over the choices he made. But then, he realised that he’d seen it before— when Wooyoung hyung was going _mad insane_ in the period of time his brother was declared missing.

Because the same loving look Wooyoung held for his brother, Seonghwa had for Hongjoong.

“Hyung,” Wooyoung calls back, striding back to his seat with confusion tracing his features. “Those pharmacies called back about those prescriptions we found in that creepy basement.” He shudders remembering the hidden room beneath Mr Lee’s house. “Sado pharmacy. Item 4246? It's a bottle of Valium and AK291 from Bona pharmacy is a bottle of Dipheminadra-something.”

“Diphenhydramine?” Wooyoung nods, still dumbfounded at Jongho’s expanse knowledge of drugs despite knowing his line of work. “It’s a kind of pill that relieves allergy symptoms but it can also be used as a sleeping pill. Valium is a diazepam used to relief anxiety disorders.”

“Are they dangerous?” Seonghwa asks.

Jongho furrows his brows, gaze unfocused as he thinks. “Diphenhydramine isn’t dangerous. An overdose of Valium can be fatal of course, which is why pharmacies started selling them in doses that won’t cause an overdose. But I don’t understand. I’ve tracked Mr Kim’s medical records and there’s no history of anxiety, allergies or insomnia, just some painkillers for abdominal pain. So, either he hasn’t reported them to his doctor or… or the prescriptions aren’t for him.”

“It can’t be a coincidence that those prescriptions were bought only a few days ago either.” Wooyoung drumming his fingers on the table, lost in thought, trying to connect the dots.

Seonghwa’s mind whirred with information, dismantling every piece of knowledge they had of Hongjoong’s father and how the man thought. It was obvious that his father wanted Hongjoong to return to him. But, why now? Why wait two years to approach his son?

“Wait, abdominal pains?” Wooyoung quirks up, eyes widening like something had clicked in his brain. The other two snapped their heads towards him, listening attentively.

“Sannie… he told me about the time he was attacked. Something he remembered a few hours after giving his statement...” He clicked his fingers together, recalling the information. “Sannie told us about how Hongjoong’s father claimed that hyung tried to kill him, right? He showed proof. Underneath his shirt, Sannie described it as this dark scar with badly woven stitches, but it looked like it was purpling beneath the skin. It’s possible, since the bastard doesn’t trust anyone, let alone hospitals, that he patched it up himself.”

Jongho pinches the space between his brows. “External wounds heal over time, but internally, if organs aren't treated properly, it can lead to massive infections. If you’re saying that Mr Kim most probably stitched himself up instead of getting professional treatment and only been consuming painkillers to stop the pain, then the infection could be manifesting in his body.” Jongho paused, looking up with his eyes peeled back in surprise. “He could be _dying_.“

The gears churn in Seonghwa’s mind as he sealed his eyes shut, processing the information meticulously. 

Assuming that Hongjoong had... stabbed him (Seonghwa winced at the thought), his punctured organs that were badly treated could be failing and the only treatment he was receiving were some painkillers? If the painkillers haven't been working well and the infection had spread even further, then why order prescriptions for anxiety and insomnia? Valium is a benzodiazepine and Diphen-whatever was a sleeping pill, so why—

Seonghwa felt lightning crackle in his veins as he popped his eyes open, leaning towards Jongho. “Valium. You mix it with the sleeping pill. Is that fatal?”

Jongho nods, furrowing his eyebrows, wondering where the latter was taking with this. “Diazepams should never be consumed with other drugs that slow your breathing. They both slow your heart rate.”

The blood drains from his face as he peels back, eyes fuzzy at the thought flashing through his mind.

If Hongjoong’s father was dying… If he had chosen _this_ time to approach Hongjoong… If Hongjoong was the _reason_ — the person to blame for his own father dying… then his father’s intention of bringing him home was…

“Fuck. Hongjoong’s father doesn’t want him home to protect him.” Seonghwa gulps the painful lump in his throat. “He’s planning to kill him.”

The other two stiffen, the words falling from Seonghwa’s mouth almost too foreign to be encapsulated as a theory. “What do you mean? Hyung, why the _fuck_ would Hongjoong’s father want to kill his _own son_. The _one_ person he spent years trying to protect?”

“Look, Mr Kim views the world as his enemy. For killing his wife. For poisoning his son’s mind. He doesn’t trust anyone but himself, which means that any judgements he makes is absolute.” Seonghwa bites the inside of his cheek, tapping his foot to pace his thoughts. “If he blames Hongjoong for the cause of him dying, then…” The words die in his mouth, his throat constricting as sweat began to pool on his forehead.

“But why? Why go through all this trouble? Why wait for him to go home instead of attacking at any time?” 

“Because he doesn’t remember,” Jongho mumbles breathlessly, eyes widening as he, too, connects the dots. “Hongjoong hyung doesn’t remember what he did to his father. Mr Kim is a narcissist, which could mean that he wants Hongjoong to _realise_ the consequences of his own actions before he tries to kill him.” 

The apprehension in the air increased in tenfolds, the silence hanging heavily over them. Just then, the booming sound of clashing metal reverberates from the kitchen, startling the three of them.

“Is that Yunho—“

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, a sharp pang of worry shooting through his chest. “Check with the authorities at the local bus interchanges and train stations. See if they have any information on whether Hongjoong had passed through. Taxi centres too. I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t wait for a response as he creaks his chair standing up, making quick steps to the kitchen. He slides through the door, immediately finding his tall friend in the compact kitchen, leaning with his arms supporting his weight against the counter, head hanging in the space between them. Pots and utensils littered the floor, some dented from the impact. 

“Yunho…” Seonghwa trails, stepping closer towards his friend. “What’s wrong? You can talk to me—“

Yunho snaps his head towards him, and Seonghwa _sees_ it. 

The red blotchiness of his eyes, the tears that left a glistening trail down his cheeks to the corner of his scowling lips, teeth grinding against each other. Yunho pinched his eyes, his gaze running with wild emotions directly at Seonghwa.

 _“Talk_ to you? Hyung, I am done _'_ _talking'_ to you. Because the last time we came to an agreement, we fucked up!” Yunho throws his head back, laughing humourlessly. “It’s _our_ fucking fault Hongjoong hyung doesn’t trust us anymore. And it _will be_ our fucking fault if Hongjoong hyung di—“ He chokes on his words, a wretched sob escaping him. He sinks to the ground, back hitting the wall and presses his hands to his face.

Seonghwa felt his heart breaking into pieces.

Jeong Yunho was _hurting_. 

Of course he would be— he was the one closest to Hongjoong, known him the longest and have seen through the ups and downs of the other. The thought of losing someone so special… that would break _anyone_. 

And Seonghwa couldn’t help but feel responsible.

That because of his stupid decisions, his stupid actions that drove Hongjoong away, he wasn’t just hurting Hongjoong and himself.

He was hurting _all_ of his friends.

Seonghwa lowers himself, kneeling next to him, his heart pumping an aching pain throughout his chest. His eyelids hang lowly, seeing Yunho, the vitamin of their group who you’d never catch without a smile, so— so _broken_. Seonghwa slowly lifts his arms, wrapping around Yunho’s head, pulling him closer to his chest.

“Yunho, I’m so sorry,” he apologises softly, voice shaking as heat rose to his face. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made you bear a responsibility like that. It’s because of me that… that Hongjoong left.” He held Yunho tighter, feeling the choked sobs against his chest, his own eyes moistening. “But we’ll get him back. Friends fight all the time, but we always come back to each other. You told me that, didn’t you?”

Yunho lets an unexpected chuckle escape amidst his sniffling, making the other smile. He pats his hair, running his hand through his hair softly. “You know Hongjoong more than anyone else. He’s not stupid enough to get himself killed. Even if his father’s got him, he’s escaped once, he can do it again. But this time, we’ll be there to help him.”

Words were the only thing Seonghwa could offer right then. Obviously, he would do everything in his power to make sure it happens, but there were always risks in a case. Nothing is guaranteed.

_“Betting on hope, it’s the best thing we can do.”_

Hongjoong had told him so before. And Seonghwa would be _damned_ if he didn’t trust those words, right now more than ever.

He pulls away from Yunho when he hears the sobbing had reduced to soft sniffles. His eyes landed on Yunho’s swollen ones, giving him a soft smile as he wiped the boy’s tears away. Yunho bit his bottom lip, his gaze not meeting Seonghwa’s just yet because the fear, the guilt— they were still evident in them.

“—Hyung.” Wooyoung pops his head into the kitchen, giving the messy kitchen a once over with a frown, but it was replaced quickly with the urgency in his voice. “We know where he’s going. He just bought a train ticket to Seocho. He’s going back to his house.”

Seonghwa frowns, pulling his brows together, licking his lips. “Start the car. We’re leaving now.”

Wooyoung nods, swiftly disappearing with him relaying the message to Jongho and their footsteps retreated quickly out the door. Seonghwa turns back to Yunho who was taking in deep breaths, wiping his tears away. Seonghwa sighs, holding the boy’s arms and guiding him back up to his feet.

“Will you be okay?” Seonghwa asks, concern lacing though his words as he tries to meet Yunho’s eyes. 

The taller boy nods, exhaling deeply before his eyes darkened when they meet Seonghwa’s, every bit of his features settling into something more serious.

“Hyung. Bring him home.”

* * *

The drive to Seocho takes about an hour, every second ticking away entwined with a growing tension in the car. Seonghwa grits his teeth, gripping the wheel tighter. Just the thought of confronting Hongjoong’s father... his blood was boiling.

He just hopes they make it in time.

“Shit, hyung,” Wooyoung calls him, his eyes not leaving the iPad in his hands. “I pulled up the files on Hongjoong’s mother’s mugging incident. You... you need to see this.”

The roads were busy during this time of the day. The car pulls to a stop in a line of vehicles on the freeway, the increasing dread prancing through his veins, but his head turns to see what Wooyoung was showing him on the screen. Jongho leans forward from his backseat, squeezing himself between the two front ones to watch as well.

It was a CCTV video taken from a high location, the view showing a split between an alleyway and the street. There was a masked man standing by the alleyway, eluded by shadows and the foreboding sense sets in. A few minutes into the video, Mrs Kim walks into view, head focused on the phone screen she was tapping on, but, just as she crosses the opening to the alley, she’s pulled forcefully into the alleyway, the assailant pushing her against the wall, pressing a sharp blade to her neck and sealing her mouth shut. 

The three boys tense, but their eyes remained peeled to the screen.

There wasn’t much of a struggle because the mask man seemed to be demanding something while Mrs Kim fell frozen in place, her gaze stuck on the blade against her neck. The masked man snatches her purse, keeping the blade in place as he rummages through her things. When he gathers what he was searching for, he looked as if he was prepared to make a run for it.

But right then, someone _else_ comes into view, earphones plugged into his ears, keeping his eyes glued to his phone screen as he strides down the street.

“Is that—“ Wooyoung gasps, the three of them pulling back in surprise. He pauses the video, zooming in closer to the pixelated figure, but the identity was unmistakable. “Hongjoong hyung.”

“Fuck,” Seonghwa exhales, the disbelief clear in his voice. He remembers the night Hongjoong had told him about his mother’s death. How she was late to pick him up, so he went home on his own. When she was right there… so close… 

Wooyoung hesitates, but presses on the screen to continue as they all held their breaths.

Hongjoong is seen passing down the street, not once lifting his gaze from his phone. At the same time, Mrs Kim and the attacker stiffened. Mrs Kim had her eyes widened when she recognised who it was, but when the attacker jerks backwards, dropping his hands and turning to face the street, it looked as if instincts kicked in as Mrs Kim hadn’t wasted a second to pull the attacker back to face her.

Only, it was a bit too forcefully, and the blade digs into her abdomen, blood spilling through the fabric. 

She had a horrified expression on her face, gripping the blade stuck to her body as the assailant stumbles backwards, falling to the ground. Mrs Kim sinks against the wall, the colour quickly falling from her face as she falls to her side. The trembling attacker quickly flees from the seen, leaving Mrs Kim laying motionless.

Wooyoung clenches his teeth, his hold on the iPad tightened. “That bloody fucking piece of shit.” 

Seonghwa could feel the heat rushing through his ears, his eyes stinging with a layer of tears as his jaw tensed.

Hongjoong didn’t deserve to lose his mother like this. 

“Wait, hyung. What’s she doing?” Jongho asks, stealing Seonghwa from his thoughts.

On the screen, Mrs Kim was stretching her hand, fingers feeling the ground until they meet her phone. With blood smearing across the screen, she dials a number and presses it to her ear.

The three boys exchange looks, Wooyoung taking a moment before pulling up the written report of the incident.

* * *

The car finally pulls up by a house that looked surprisingly ordinary. It had looked like a typical suburban home, much like the ones lining up next to it; a simple modest building, contrary to the harrowing stories they’ve heard of behind these closed doors.

Seonghwa packs himself by the door, leaning in, hands feeling for the gun slotted discreetly in his clothes as Wooyoung takes his position just opposite him, doing the same. Jongho waited by the side gate, blocking any escape route from the house. The two watch Seonghwa, waiting for his signal, who counts down by his fingers before knocking the door and pressing himself back up the wall again.

They hear footsteps and the blood pumps threateningly fast through his ears, drowning out any other sound. He stabilises his breaths, the footsteps coming increasingly close before the handle turns. Seonghwa tightened his features.

He was not going to let him get away again.

Just as the door swings open, Wooyoung pulls the man forward swiftly, pushing the front of his body against the wall with his hands behind his back as the man grunts in surprise. He struggles to break free, but Wooyoung was bulkier than he was, any effort to escape futile. “You’re under arrest, you fucking bastard. We’re putting your ass in jail—“

“Wait— Wooyoung. That’s not him.” Seonghwa blurted, lowering his gun as he knitted his brows together.

Wooyoung tilted his head, confused. Upon closer inspection, the male looked too young. Seonghwa could estimate the man to be no older than his late twenties, had a slim body and a height reaching his; definitely not matching the description of Mr Kim.

_They got the wrong fucking person._

“Honey, what’s— “ Another woman gasps, screaming when she came through the door.

Immediately, Wooyoung lets the man go, stepping back as he tries to straighten the latter’s clothes, apologies falling from his mouth. The man huffs, shrugging him off as the lady swoops by his side, a petrified expression lacing her features, staring at the two detectives with wide eyes.

Seonghwa bows in deep regret and apology and Wooyoung does the same. “We’re sorry sir, ma’am, but is this not the Kims residence?”

“The Kims?” The man scowls, shaking his head as his fury-filled eyes narrows on Wooyoung, who looked unaffected. “Who the fuck are they? We’re the Baeks.”

“A-Are you l-looking for Kim Hadong and Kim Youna?” The lady squeak, terror filled her eyes. “Th-they moved out years ago. We live here n-now.”

Seonghwa glowers, eyebrows narrowing and teeth grinding on each other, irritation pricking the edge of his conscience. _He did it again. He was always one fucking step ahead._ “Do you happen to know where they live now?”

The woman shakes her head, but the man releases a string of profanities which the two had no time to stay for. Seonghwa apologises once more, promptly stepping away from the house with Wooyoung and Jongho trailing behind him. He runs a hand through his hair, the tension between his brows not letting up. 

“Hyung, we got the wrong house?” Jongho questions, returning to the car door. “That can’t be right. It’s the house registered on his records. Hongjoong hyungs too.”

Wooyoung sighs, exasperatedly. “Fuck, I’m getting tired of this bastard's games.” He slides through the door, pulling up the iPad as soon as he takes his seat. Jongho slides into the backseat, peeking over Wooyoung’s shoulder and joining him in his search.

“Fuck!” Seonghwa rages, kicking the wheel of the car, his chest heaving as he presses a hand to his forehead, the heat building through his body. Just then, his phone buzzes, a new number flashing across the screen Seonghwa doesn’t recognise, but has an idea of who it could be and picks it up.

“Alright, you fucking bastard, where the hell are you?”

There was a silence on the other end of line and Seonghwa grits his teeth, tightening his hold on the phone, ready to cuss him out again.

“Not the greeting I was expecting.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, the hatred and burning anger extinguished in a flash, recognising the voice.

“Hongjoong!”

Wooyoung and Jongho snap their heads towards him.

“Don’t get too excited, Seonghwa. I’m still mad at you," Hongjoong replies, threateningly.

Seonghwa bites down on his lips, his fingers trembling as he holds the phone closer to his ears.

“My phone died on the way here, but I guess that’s a good thing because I managed to do a lot of thinking... If I know you well, you’re probably on my tail now, aren’t you?” Hongjoong pauses and Seonghwa holds his breaths, eyebrows creased in worry with a million questions running through his mind but he keeps silent. “I still… don’t know if I can trust you. But I’m not stupid enough to trust my father even more. If I'm gonna do this, I'll probably need your help.”

The voice on the other end sighs heavily, as if berating on his next few words. Seonghwa darts his eyes, twisting his body, searching, feeling as if Hongjoong was _just_ within his reach, but there was no sign of the familiar mop of curly hair. Dejected, he focuses on Hongjoong’s voice instead.

After a long pause, Hongjoong sighs once more, this time, sounding more composed.

“23 Sejeong-daero,” Hongjoong reveals. “That’s where we are.”

Seonghwa pants heavily, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. “What? Hongjoong, what—“

Then, the line cuts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hongjoong and Yunho are my favourite characters to write. Too bad I always make them suffer :p
> 
> Anyways, 2 more chapters left?? Ya'll ready??
> 
> Please leave kudos and scream at me in the comments (I love reading what yall think might happen next hoho) :D
> 
> See you in the next chapter~


	8. protect me, my aurora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally.
> 
> After two years, he was here.
> 
> This time, he wasn't going to leave until he sets things right.
> 
> Hopefully, he even gets the chance to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update :(( Been super busy 😔 😔
> 
> But anywhooos
> 
> Enjoy the chapter~
> 
> TW // VIOLENCE / DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD / ABUSE

The clinking of the spoon against the metal of the cup hurts his ears.

The living room was already engulfed in an uncomfortable state of silence that the incessant ringing of the metal felt like pounding against his eardrums. 

Hongjoong looks away from the back of the towering figure, glancing around the house he tried so hard to forget since he left two years ago. Unsurprisingly, nothing had changed. The furniture sat where it has always been since his mother died, because this was the arrangement she had put it in and to even twist a chair in a different direction seemed like it would be dishonouring her efforts. The walls were still lined with photos of the three of them, together as a family, some from vacations in Busan, Jeju and some even outside the country, and others random pictures of Hongjoong growing up. The lingering scent of her was still there, because she’d love the smell of lavender on everything she owned.

Hongjoong had forgotten how much of his mother was still present in his home. Being in the house, he had this blasphemous feeling that she was still _alive_. Like she would step out of his parents bedroom in her pyjamas, nagging Hongjoong for coming home late again because he always liked to stay in school a little longer to finish his art projects.

The spirit of her was still alive in this house— and it made him uncomfortable, like if he didn’t stop to remind himself that she was dead, then he would be sucked into this _illusion_ that she was still alive.

Even though he’s lived here for nearly three years since they had moved in, a little piece of Hongjoong stuck in every corner of the room in the form of pictures, dents he accidentally created, stains on the carpet he remembers trying desperately to clean out before his mother got home— even after all that history, he felt like a stranger in his own home. 

The house gave a spine chilling blow through his bones, especially when his eyes land on the door to his old room. It was left ajar, just a glimpse of sunlight peeking through with segregated shadows that Hongjoong knew in an instant what it was.

Even his desolated, suffocating room hadn’t changed.

His eyes divert themselves on his father’s back, the man leaning on one leg as he stirs what Hongjoong would assume was coffee on the kitchen counter. The only thing in the household that _has_ changed being his father’s appearance. Since he had last visited him in his memories, his father had visibly bulked up, not overly, but enough that the fats that used to capture his figure before was now gone. But that only intensified the growing fear in his chest at the thought that his father had gotten _stronger_ since they last met.

And maybe, in the back of his mind, he’s a little relieved that he had the conscience to call Seonghwa before he had approached the house. Hongjoong hadn’t planned on letting him know where he was, because if he was being honest, he still had looming thoughts over what the other wanted to do with him— why earn his trust, then go ahead and break it like it was nothing? Why lead him into his own home, catch the whole house on fire _with him in it_ , only to drag him out and save him?

If Hongjoong was being honest, he didn’t know who to trust anymore. Trust was a fragile concept to him, built like a sandcastle with waves just edging the structures. He trusted his friends, Yunho especially, and he was starting to trust Seonghwa a whole lot too. 

But maybe it was Hongjoong who had been so foolish to trust them so easily that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that just _maybe,_ it was _him_ the others didn’t trust. He wasn’t going to deny it. Even _he_ didn’t trust himself. There was so much hiding in the creases of his memory he wasn’t even aware of, and when fragments of these memories rush feverishly back into his mind, he lashes out, acting completely out of character— acting so _dangerously_ that maybe he understands why his friends had kept him at a distance. 

It was the realisation he’d come to on the train ride here— that the only reason he wanted to face his father and clear the friction that his mind won’t let him remember is so that he’ll be able to go back to them as the Hongjoong they knew.

He wanted that image again, of all of them smiling, free from any weight bearing them down. Because, after escaping from a broken household, Hongjoong had finally built a home with the seven of them. And now that he knows what that’s like, he’d be a fool if he wasn’t going to risk _everything_ to get it back.

The clinking finally stops and Hongjoong snaps his head up. His father turns around, two mugs in his hand and an unsettling smile playing his lips as he sets one down in front of him and the other in his hand before taking a seat. He hasn’t forgotten this feeling, sitting across from the man who was a shell of who his father really was. Even as Hongjoong delves deep into those dark orbs, he couldn’t find a trace of the superhero he once labeled his father of. 

Just an old man with wrinkling features, staring blankly at him with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

Hongjoong observes the steam floating from the mug, the swirling of the liquid enchanting him, diverting him from looking back up at his father. The tension blanketing them had his heart thrashing against his chest, but Hongjoong kept his ground. He wasn’t going to show any weaknesses. He won't let his father find the right buttons to push him over the edge and make him lose himself, forgetting what he really came here for.

“So, how has my son been doing?” His father breaks the ice. When he looks up, his father kept the unnerving smile on his face as he took a sip from his mug, the simple action was enough to tighten the twisted knot in Hongjoong’s stomach. 

Ever since he had knocked on the door earlier, his father had been acting unnaturally _kind_. Hongjoong had been the one to run away from home, leaving his father with not so much as a note and hadn’t even made the effort to contact him since the day he left— so why was his father being so calm? Why was he being so friendly to him, inviting him for a cup of coffee and approaching him like he hadn’t completely cut him loose two years ago?

This was a game his father was playing, clearly.

But if his father was going to pretend like the past two years didn’t happen, then Hongjoong was going to play along as well. 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I-I’m fine.” He winces at the betrayal in his voice for shaking. “I’ve been doing well, Appa.”

The lips spread further on his father’s face. “I don’t think so.” 

Hongjoong manages a whiplash as his father sips on his coffee again, the silence settling between them again while he tries to figure out what his father was playing at. Even for someone who had been torturing his mind for a couple of years, this was even _worse_. The mental tug of war. The mental warfare.

The heat radiating from the cup burns his fingertips, so he removes them and placed them under his thighs. He had the words rehearsed in his mind on the train ride, delicately divided into points he wanted to bring up some time into their conversation. But the words vanish from his memory the second the door swung open to reveal his father.

So, here Hongjoong was, a man without a fucking plan.

“Your new life not treating you well?” His father sets his mug down, smiling once again. “I always knew you were bound to come back.”

Hongjoong grits his teeth. The ball was in his father’s court now. If he knew his father well, this was one of his tactics, to get beneath his skin, draw attention from Hongjoong and at the heat of the moment, he would put Hongjoong in his place and shatter every piece of confidence he would have.

But not this time. Hongjoong was going settle things between them on _his_ terms. 

He knew what he was here for.

It was something that should’ve been done a long time ago.

If he was ever going to clear the cloud hanging over his fragmented memories and move on with his life, he needed to confront the first thing that went wrong in his life— because... because after nearly four years, it was finally time to deal with it together.

He breathes in deeply, the urge to say something before the anxiety overwhelms him becoming increasingly clear. He lifts his gaze to meet his father’s. “Appa, I think we should talk.”

His father remains expressionless, staring back at him with a hint of nonchalance in his eyes, taking a sip from his coffee before placing it back onto the table. “About what?”

His tone was emotionless as always. Hell had to freeze over before his father had sounded remotely different from the usual stoic, disregard attitude in his voice— unless it was bringing up with Hongjoong a new method he’d come up with to ‘protect’ them from the cruel world outside. 

“I think it’s time we talk about mom.”

His father stills, eyes boring into his as they burn uncomfortably. Hongjoong bites his lip, the trepidation running through his veins shooting through the roof. It was an elephant in the room that Hongjoong was desperate to address before his cowardliness took over. Yet, despite his growing anxiety, he finally did it. He finally caught his father by the tongue. 

His mother was a taboo in the hous. Despite everything in the home screaming the presence of her, her death was never spoken of, the heaviness lacing through the subject to hard to put in conversation. But, they needed this. If there was one thing Hongjoong had learnt after spending time with his friends, it was that the hardest conversations were often the most important ones to have. If the father and son pair was ever going to move past from this, then they needed to—

“No.”

His father picks up his mug for another sip, eyes darkening as Hongjoong feels a flash of iciness run through his body. The curtness of his voice sending shivers down his spine, but he couldn’t help but feel the rejection course painfully through his chest.

“Appa—“

“Let’s talk about why you left.”

Hongjoong stiffens. It was the conversation he’d been trying to avoid, hoping that he could ease into it once they started conversing. His father settles the mug back onto the table, crossing his arms as he waited for an answer.

“I-I… Appa… I was,” he stutters, the words jumbling up because he had no idea what to fucking _say_.

He decides to take a long sip from his mug instead, awfully aware of his father’s watchful eyes burning through him. The coffee tastes bitter and Hongjoong chokes on the liquid, clearing his throat. 

His father leans back on his chair, his arms crossed. “I don’t know what I haven’t done for you, son. I gave you shelter, I gave you protection. What more did you need? Why the impulsiveness to run away?”

Hongjoong grits his teeth. _Protection_. Rolling off his father’s tongue made the word sound bitter— no, _repulsive_. The blood boils beneath his skin as he tightens his grip around his mug, not daring to lift his eyes away from it.

“I’m only one person, Hongjoong. I did everything I could to protect you from what killed your mother.” Hongjoong stiffens at the way those words roll off his tongue so _easily_. “If you want to die like your mother did—“

“Shut _up,"_ Hongjoong snaps, razor sharp eyes narrowing on his father. His fists press against the table as he leans forward, clenching his jaw. 

“Excuse me?” His father raises an eyebrow, barely amused at his outburst. “Don’t raise your voice at me, son. Have some respect for your father.”

Hongjoong shoots to his feet, slamming his hands against the table. Suddenly, holding back wasn’t even an option anymore. “I’ve been biting my tongue, risked my _ass_ to come back here, thinking I could have a civilised conversation with you. But—“ Hongjoong chuckles soullessly. “It was stupid of me to think that you’ve changed. You don’t get to call yourself my _father_ after all the shit you’ve done to me—“

In a blink, the mug his father's hand was sent flying across the room, shattering against the wall that made Hongjoong flinch. His father snaps up, his chair crashing backwards as he grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

Suddenly, all the vigour and bravado Hongjoong had been putting on escapes him without a trace. Instead, he remains stiff, his eyes enlarging at the threatening stance that rendered him trembling like a leaf, his face paling. His father’s hot breath against his face escalates the heat and sweat pooling on his forehead as he holds his own breath. 

“You want to talk about what I’ve done for you? I don’t think you understand that I’ve done everything in my power to raise you in a safe world. But what do _I_ receive in return?” His eyes glowers and Hongjoong pales as white as a ghost. 

His father shoves him forcefully back into his seat, lifting up his shirt to reveal a darkening wound the size of his fist right on his abdomen. Hongjoong’s eyes blew wide open, staring at the terrifying lines of blackening strips crawling upwards in different directions that caught him feeling sick.

“A-Appa, wha-what happened?” The words come out in a strangled voice as Hongjoong’s brows creased in worry, snapping his eyes back up to his father.

The man flares his nostrils and, in a blink of a moment, fingers wrap around Hongjoong’s throat, pushing him off the chair and crashing him to the ground, the back of his head knocking hard against the carpet. A sharp breath escapes him as Hongjoong stares gapingly at his father whose wild gaze pierces through him. His hands shoot up to grip the hand constricting his throat, the pain shooting straight through his system as his legs writhe under his father.

“Don’t play games with me, Kim Hongjoong.” His father seethes through his teeth, eyes narrowing fiercely as Hongjoong chokes, straining for air. “You can’t tell me you don’t fucking remember slicing through your _own father.”_

All of a sudden, the floodgates swing open, flashes of his memories rushing harshly to the forefront of his mind.

* * *

It was dark. The sun had left the last of its traces hours ago, enveloping the house in a blanket of darkness that forced Hongjoong to navigate through the mess on the floor of his bedroom with his heightened senses. Not only was there barely enough light permitting his room, it was unbearably _hot_ as well. Summer had caught up by the time Hongjoong had finished planning, preparing, putting everything into place for this one night.

The floorboard creaks agonisingly loud in his ears, but reflexes helped him deflect his foot away before the sound could develop across the room. 

He had gathered enough things he needed for his escape— money, two sets of clothing and a written note of Yunho’s address in case he forgets. His mother’s photograph sticks on top of all those things in his bag, cushioned by his clothes.

Once he feels the cool metal of his doorknob, Hongjoong twists it slowly, being extra careful to not let a single noise permit from the action. His father had left his door unlocked since he had faked being food poisoned a day ago (well, technically he was, but taking a bite from the pile of expired food was part of his plan after all) so that he could use the bathroom when he needed. Still, he didn’t want any noise alarming his father that he was awake, and more importantly, trying to _escape_.

Darkness overcasts the living room, leaving the furniture in silhouettes, but Hongjoong knew the route to the bathroom and made a beeline for it, his steps leaving barely a whisper. His front door was padded with locks that drove down the side of the wall. Taking the time to unlock each one would jeopardise his escape; a stupid move he wasn't willing to risk. The bathroom window, no matter it being half the size of him, was his only option.

He locks the bathroom door behind him, clicking it shut and a heavy breath he’d been holding releases. Anticipation danced through his skin, his heart pounding in his ears. He could almost taste it, the _freedom_. He was almost there. Hongjoong readjusts the strap of his school bag on his shoulders, closing the lid of the toilet bowl and stepping on it. He slides the window open, the cool air hitting his skin, letting him inhale deeply at the fresh scent of liberty. 

But there was not a moment to waste.

He shrugs his bag off, throwing it out the window and it lands with a thud on the grass which made him wince, freezing for a moment. When he’s only met with silence, he exhales, placing his hands over the window and lifted his body up, planting him on his elbows. But when his eyes meet the stillness of the scenery outside, he pauses, his breath caught in his throat. It had been _months_ since Hongjoong had seen the outside world without the restraints of his grilled up window. To be so _close_ to freedom…

Suddenly, his ears pick up the stomping of heavy footsteps outside the bathroom door, sending an electrifying sense of fear through his veins.

_Shit, shit, shit._

“Hongjoong!” 

His breath quickens, the sound of the booming voice and banging against the door raises the anxiety beneath his skin, forcing him to scramble even _faster_.

He is _so close._ He wasn't going to have another chance like this again.

He hears the jangling of keys and Hongjoong lifts the top half of his body through the window, squirming himself through the tightness of the edges. 

_A little more. God, please, just a little more._

The door swings behind him, crashing loudly against the wall and Hongjoong gasps, pushing against the wall to squeeze through the window.

He’s _almost there._

Out of the blue, he feels two hands wrap around his legs, crushing them as he’s being pulled backwards harshly. Hongjoong screams, his body sliding through the window easily and, in a blink of an eye, his back is met with the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. Within a second, his father’s figure encapsulates his view and, despite the moonlight drawing a silhouette of him, Hongjoong could see the flaming anger from his face. There were rigid chords on his father’s neck, his jaw clenched with his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“What the _fuck_ were you trying to do?”

The tantalising terror ran through his bones, itching him to move. Hongjoong slides himself backwards, crawling tentatively away from the growing figure before him. His trembling limbs attempt to place some distance between them, but his father’s advances towards him.

“You think you could _ever_ leave this house? What a tasteless joke you’re pulling!”

_Run, run, run._

Hongjoong doesn’t think twice— he doesn’t think at all. Before he could even comprehend his thoughts, his legs push him off the floor, driving him towards the living room, _anywhere_ to get away from his father. His eyes dart around the room, adrenaline flooding through his system. He doesn’t know what he’s doing but he knows he needs to do _something_. _Anything_ that could protect him now that his father looked like he wanted Hongjoong _dead_.

But, before he could even manage another step forward, he feels a tight grip enclosing around his arm, swinging him across the room, his body crashing against the kitchen cabinet and shattering the glass behind him. The sharp pain shoots through the back of his head and Hongjoong winces, feeling around the wound with his fingers.

 _Blood_.

Mental warfare was the only form of abuse his father had put him through all this time. But physically hurting Hongjoong? This time, his father had crossed a line they could never come back from. In that moment, every noise in his mind screamed a similar thought— Hongjoong was going to _die_.

His father marches towards him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt just as Hongjoong unconsciously wraps his fingers around a shard of shattered glass on the floor. The forceful pull propels him forwards towards his father’s red face, closing the distance between them, but a sharp intake of breath stops him from coming closer. His father’s eyes widened as the both of them drop their gaze.

Hongjoong had pierced the glass shard through his father, the blood pooling and sticking to his hands, dripping onto the floor.

His father staggers backwards, releasing Hongjoong from his hold as he, too, collapses on the ground. The smaller boy gasps, watching his father slide against the wall, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The noise drowns from his ears, ringing endlessly through them. His bloody hands trembled as he switches his gaze from his father to them. 

They were bathed in _blood_.

“Kim—“ his father chokes, strangling on his words as he grips around the glass penetrating through his abdomen, wincing but not leaving his piercing gaze off his son. “Kim Hong—g—j—joong.”

Hongjoong takes small steps backwards, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares at the pooling blood gathering around his crumpled father. 

_“You did this.”_

His teeth chatter violently, tremor ringing through his body like an earthquake. His father was staring at him, but he doesn’t move where he’s slumped against the wall. “Get the _fuck_ back here!”

_“You’re the reason I’m dying.”_

Hongjoong’s mind flickers in the moment, the treacherous thought crossing his mind. _This is his chance._ He bites his lips, taking one last look at his father before turning his back, dashing towards the bathroom with his heart in his throat.

“You left your father alone to die. What a terrible _fucking_ son.”

Dark spots encroach his vision as Hongjoong is slammed back into the present moment. The tight grip around his neck strains his throat, cutting the airway from entering. He chokes, sharp gasps of air desperate to enter his lungs. The strength flows out of his fingertips, Hongjoong losing the power to break free.

But his heart ached, the image of his father, blood spilling from his abdomen, blood on _his_ own hands.

He had done that. He had actually _stabbed_ his father. This was his fault. He deserved this. He deserved the life slipping away from him. He deserves to die at the hands of the person he was responsible for almost _killing_.

His grip loosens around his father’s hands, falling to the ground. 

The darkness pulls him in, dragging him away from the present moment.

He just needed to let go.

The deafening sound of a gunshot pierces through the air, the impact against skin capturing Hongjoong’s ears as the heavy force against his body recoils off him, sending a sharp breath of air straight into his lungs. Hongjoong gasps stridently, his eyes peeling back at the shock of air entering his system, his hands flying to his throat as he coughs violently. His ears were ringing, blocking out the noise into mere muffled sounds of voices and his brutal coughs as he turns to his side, bring his knees up and shutting his eyes from the overwhelming stimulations. 

There was voice echoing in his ear, a pair of hands pulling him up into a sitting position. The echoes ring before focusing into a single voice calling out his name. The oxygen attack his throat like needles, his lungs grasping at its presence, hurting his chest.

“Hongjoong? Hongjoong, are you okay?”

When enough oxygen settle into his system, the pain no longer excruciating as it was, Hongjoong cracks his eyes open, his vision filled with the image of—

“S—Seong—g—h—hwa,” his voice rasped, hurting as it strained against his throat.

He was there.

Seonghwa was there.

Seonghwa was holding him, his eyes crinkled in anxiousness, searching Hongjoong’s face fiercely. His lips parted, twitching downwards with his eyebrows creased. The worry evident in the pools of his eyes, grounding him.

Hongjoong fought the threatening droopiness of his eyelids, taking in the features of the man in front of him. He swayed a little, but Seonghwa was quick to hold him up. 

Seonghwa was here. 

He was here, holding Hongjoong, staring deeply into his eyes with the same look he’d seen so many times before whenever he felt on the edge of breaking down. Hope had been slipping through his fingertips lately, but the overwhelming sense of hope shot through his chest at that moment. He had his doubts before, but right now, Seonghwa was here with him, right when he needed him. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he stared back.

“Get your hands off my fucking son, Park!” 

The two off them snap their heads towards Hongjoong’s father, who was leaning his back against the wall, clutching his arm as blood spilled from it. The man gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing on the two of them as he heaved heavily.

“Feel free to shut up now.” Wooyoung steps into view, his gun pointing towards his father with watchful eyes as he takes measured steps towards the man. “We’ve got you now, you bastard. We’re putting your ass in jail.”

His father spits mercilessly. “I’d thread that line carefully, boy. What proof do you have to send me to jail.” He laughs tastelessly, Wooyoung tightening his hold around the gun.

Hongjoong watches the exchange, his vision shifting, focusing and unfocusing. He sways again when Seonghwa’s hands loosened a little, but the latter catches him, moving him slightly to rest his back against the frame of the couch.

“You’re going to be alright,” Seonghwa soothes in a low voice, sending a wave of comfort through his skin. “You’re safe now, okay? We’ll take care of this.”

Hongjoong doesn’t even have the strength to reply, his chest still rising slowly to compensate the incoming air into his lungs. His half-lidded eyes trails Seonghwa’s retreating back as the latter stands, towering over his father.

“Cha Bongpil,” Seonghwa muses. “Recognise that name?”

His father snaps his head at the name, eyes penetratingly piercing towards Seonghwa.

“You would know. He’s the man you obsessed over and pushed for his death penalty after he killed your wife.” Hongjoong’s eyes darted up. Calm, expressionless features donned Seonghwa’s face, a stark contrast to the worried expression he held for him earlier. “But that’s not what pushed you over the edge, is it? That man and what he did wasn’t the reason that drove you to insanity.”

Hongjoong’s chest feels heavy, weighing him down, but he kept his gaze flickering between Seonghwa and his father. The words leaving Seonghwa’s mouth were incomprehensible to him. Cha Bongpil? Insanity? 

Seonghwa tilts his head, his supercilious gaze through his half-lidded eyes staring his father down. His father, on the other hand, narrows his eyes on Seonghwa, gritting his teeth. “Watch it, Park.”

“Before your wife died, she made one last call. “ Seonghwa kneels, meeting his father’s face with his eyes darkening. “She made one last call… to you.”

What.

_What call?_

Hongjoong hadn't known about any calls. His father had never told him about it. All he ever knew was that his mother had died tragically in an accidental murder. So, what the _fuck_ was going on?

His heavy eyelids threaten to close, but Hongjoong kept his eyes on the two, deciphering the situation. There was something his father was hiding from him. Something he hadn’t known in the past few years he was kept in captivity by him. There was an untold truth behind everything that had gone wrong in his life.

His father visibly tenses his jaw, clenching his hand tightly around his injured arm. 

“What did she say to you, Hadongssi? What were her last words?” His father scowls, but Seonghwa’s expression doesn’t falter, his face darkening instead. “You don’t know because you didn’t _pick up.”_

For a second, his father’s steaming face falters into a flash of something Hongjoong had never seen before.

 _Guilt_. His father looked _guilty_.

But the expression vanishes as quick as it came, the previous anger replacing it, but this time, the intense vigour was lost. 

Seonghwa stares hard, his eyes boring into the furious ones before him. “What were you doing? Business meeting? Too busy to pick up a call from your wife?” His words were sharp, leaning closer to the man. “Whatever excuse you had, I bet it wasn’t worth the regret you felt after, was it? When you found out that that missed call was the _last_ chance you ever had to talk to your wife, maybe even the chance to save her. That. That thought drove you insane.”

The tension leaves from Mr Kim’s body, the initial fury dissipating the more Seonghwa spoke. His gaze remains fixated on the detective despite the absence of the iciness of them. “You… have no right…” the man gasps, his chest slowing the rise and fall of it. His eyelids droop lower and lower and Seonghwa’s expression changes.

Something was wrong.

“You… don’t know…” Mr Kim mutters, his eyes shutting before hanging low and his hand falls from its place on his arm.

“Mr Kim?” Seonghwa cocks his head in confusion as Wooyoung drops next to him, pressing two fingers to Mr Kim’s neck. A few beats later, he turns to Seonghwa, twitching his head, a puzzled look on his face. Seonghwa twists his head, turning to ask Hongjoong if he knew what was wrong. The bullet Wooyoung shot merely grazed his arm. He shouldn't be fainting from the lost of blood.

But fear gripped his heart, clutching tightly seeing the small boy, motionless, his head drooping to one side.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa slides over to him, lifting his head but Hongjoong’s eyes were closed, even as he pats his cheeks, shaking him awake.

“Hyung!” Seonghwa snaps his head towards Jongho, who had been shuffling through the kitchen, his eyes widening as he picks up two small bottles in his hands. He shook them, pointing towards the mug on the table.

 _Shit_.

Seonghwa’s breath hitches, his breathing increasing rapidly as he turns back to Hongjoong, placing his fingers on the boy’s neck, searching for the faint heartbeat that was thankfully still there. “Hongjoong. Please wake up. _Please,_ Hongjoong.”

Wooyoung shuffles to his feet hurriedly, stepping away as he whipped out his phone. In a blink, Jongho positions himself next to Seonghwa, telling him to start chest compressions on Hongjoong as he did so himself on Mr Kim.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Seonghwa carefully lays Hongjoong on his back, clasping his hands together and positioning them on his chest. He presses down, pumping, massaging his heart, _anything_ to keep Hongjoong alive as long as he can.

The fear crept through his veins, darkening through his chest as sweat gathered against his forehead. Each second that ticked away felt like hours, yet, Hongjoong hadn’t showed any signs of motion, his head falling to one side, his eyelids remaining shut and the trepidation escalates in Seonghwa's body.

“Don’t do this, Hongjoong.” Hot tears pools in his eyes as he continues applying pressure, the dread spreading through his chest like wildfire. “You can’t leave me like this, Kim Hongjoong. You can’t leave me _again.”_

Sobs wrack from his chest, his tears trailing down his cheeks and dripping onto Hongjoong’s pale face. But Seonghwa doesn’t stop compressing his chest, grasping at straws of any hope to breathe life back into the boy.

He had _just_ gotten Hongjoong back. 

He wasn’t going to lose him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter makes up for the long wait!! Depending on how busy I am, I might have to update a little later, but I'll try to squeeze it in as soon as possible!!
> 
> BUT THE STORY IS ENDING?? AAHH
> 
> SCREAM WITH ME
> 
> AAAAHHHHHHH
> 
> (sorry pls excuse my brain its 2am)
> 
> hehe,, see you in the next chapter~


	9. to a place no one can find, my treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP:
> 
> Seonghwa and his team made it just in time to save Hongjoong from suffocation.
> 
> As the interrogation deepened, Mr Kim loses consciousness out of a sudden.
> 
> Seonghwa turns around and finds Hongjoong in the same way. Still. Unmoving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, a thousand sorrys for this super late update!! Just. Life. Need I say more-
> 
> Secondly, OVER 1000 HITS ON THIS STORY??? ARE YALL INSANE?? AAAHHHH Hitting 1K reads was my goal for this work and IM SO FUCKING HAPPY WHEN I SAW IT HKFJSF (and my other work almost reaching 1k reads and 100 kudos???? not to celebrate early buuut 🎉 🎉 🎉) lmao sorry it doesnt sound like a big deal but it is to meee
> 
> as a gift (if you'd count it as a gift 😬 😬 ) be sure to check the notes at the end!!
> 
> ANYWAYS, LAST CHAPTER?? BREATHE YALLS
> 
> TW // PANIC ATTACK / DEPRESSION
> 
> Enjoy~

The darkness behind his eyelids were dangerous.

It was so easy to fall back into it. So easy to drift. So easy for him to let go and just _be_.

By no means was this a comfort. It was just… it was too comfortable. Because Hongjoong had spent months— close to _years_ — swimming, floating in that darkness that he was sure that if he gave in to the oblivion again, he was destined to stay planted into the nothingness the darkness had to offer.

But right now, it felt like something was sitting on his eyelids, something that mocked him tastelessly for his weakness for not being able to do something as simple as to lift his eyes open. He willed for them to open, because the seconds that ticked like hours passed the longer he stayed in that darkness.

_“—the fuck? You’re fucking kidding, right?”_

Thank god for ears.

Thank god that, even if he wasn’t able to see, he could still hear.

Thank god there was a voice grounding him, stopping him from being entirely consumed by the darkness.

_“—at’s what Commissioner Ahn ordered.”_

_“—well Commissioner Ahn is worse than a fucking idiot if he thinks that’s going to happen.”_

He knows he needs to lift his eyes open, to give a sign and let others know he was awake. He didn’t like intruding in conversations he wasn’t meant to hear, even if they weren’t talking in hushed tones like what was being said wasn’t personal. But, no matter how hard he tried, his eyelids don’t budge.

_“—what can we do, hyung? We can’t exactly stop him from dying.”_

The way the last world rolled off so bitterly, almost sardonic, tingled his skin. Dying? Who was dying? Was Hongjoong dying? Is that why his eyes wouldn’t open?

_Dear God, please. Just let me wake up._

He feels his eyelids move a smudge, lifted briefly without having any light penetrating through, but they fall back immediately where they kept still.

_“—it’s just… fuck. What the fuck are we supposed to do?”_

_“—hyung… you’re not gonna like this but…”_

_“—but what Wooyoung?”_

Hongjoong tries again, this time, drawing all the strength from the tip of his toes to the faucets of his fingertips, _everything_ he had to crack his eyes open.

_“—if we can… we can get Hongjoong hyung to testify against him, then maybe we can do something about it.”_

The blinding white light strikes his vision, his mind buzzing and pounding at the intrusion. He shuts his eyes immediately but when he pulls them open again, they don’t weigh the elephants they were before. It was easier to peel them back, blinking and fluttering open. Finally, and _oh god, finally,_ Hongjoong wasn’t surrounded by the obsidian blackness. 

Instead, two faces come into his view, shielding him from the piercing whiteness that blared above his head. He blinks repetitively slow, the blurring figures coming to focus. One was staring at him, mouth agape with rounded eyes, the other held him in a soft gaze, brows creasing where they were slanted. A few blinks later, his mind finally registers the two people before him, oblivious to Hongjoong’s intrusion into their conversation, were Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

“Hongjoong—“ Seonghwa gasps, breathlessly, like he’d been struck by an electrifying tase. “You’re awake.”

Hongjoong’s eyelids still felt heavy where he peeled them back. They still hung low, lidded enough to see fractions of the two hovering faces. His throat felt sore like sandpaper rubbing against his Adams apple, clearly from the lack of activity. Still, the words come out in a strained voice, cracking painfully. “Wh—y? Did I die?”

It was easier to see Wooyoung, who’d been standing in front of him, resting his arms against the handles of— a hospital gurney? The blankness on his face morphed into a thin smile, like a relief to the wrinkles that were starting to form where his lips were downturned.

“The world would be brought to its knees first before they’d let Kim Hongjoong die,” Wooyoung muses him. 

Hongjoong wants to smile, wants the ends of his lips to curl because he doesn’t understand why there was a wave of comfort in his chest, but he wanted to show them he felt at ease. Now that he wasn't cold and alone in the darkness. Yet, he’d already exhausted all his power in trying to crack his eyelids open, he barely had enough energy to keep the thudding ache in his head from slipping him back under.

“Hongjoong, you’re in the hospital right now. You were drugged closed to _death.”_

Hongjoong doesn’t miss the petrified tone in Seonghwa’s voice, and he’s kinda glad he doesn’t have the strength to turn his head to face him.

Seonghwa was always trying to read him, trying to figure out what Hongjoong was thinking or feeling. He guesses that the habit is just second nature to him, being a detective and all. So, he doesn’t want Seonghwa to dissect the loss of emotions on his face that transcended into how _numb_ he really felt at those words.

Before Seonghwa could get the chance, Hongjoong groans in his weak voice. “Where’s my fa—ther?” He winces at the scratchiness in his voice. His vision is half than it usually was, but he notices the way the two stiffen at the mention of his father. Hongjoong wanted to laugh.

“Your… father… He—he just came out of surgery,” Wooyoung sputters, his words careful. “When he drugged you—“ he scowls briefly “he drugged himself too. He was planning on taking you both to the next life. He almost _did_. Thankfully, we got to you in time for the doctors to pump and neutralise the drugs in your systems.”

They burned against his ears.

_Drugged. The next life. Almost._

He should be used to his father’s antics by now. Nothing should surprise him anymore. His father was always finding new ways to deal with Hongjoong using methods he couldn’t even begin to fathom. 

He remembers those memories that slammed through him like a truck while he was being pinned down by the heavy weight of his father. He remembers driving the shard of glass through his body, remembers the blood spilling out, sticking to him like a second skin. Worst of all, he remembers _running_.

And his father had remembered the betrayal.

His father was a terror to Hongjoong just as Hongjoong was a terror to his father.

They rubbed against each other like two ends of a stick, catching fire immediately and burning everything around them in the process.

“They want us to drop charges, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa informs so curtly, the sudden break in silence shot enough adrenaline in Hongjoong to tilt his head towards him. Finally, he’s able to take in the fine lines that creased Seonghwa’s forehead, skin tired and pale with eyes that spoke so much worry, dark circles were painted right beneath them. 

_Just how long had Hongjoong been out cold?_

Still, Seonghwa’s brows were furrowed, eyes narrowing in a quiet rage behind those irises. 

“Hyung—“ Wooyoung steps beside the elder, fingers brushing against his elbow as he looked up at Seonghwa, something in his expression representing some kind of wary hesitance. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

Seonghwa kept his gaze on Hongjoong, but the latter was far too tired to care about the quiet battle between the two. He hopes it was whatever medicine they put him on that made him feel like this and not the darkness in his chest looming. Maybe the aftermath of surgery or something.

“No. I’m done hiding things from him.” The firmness in Seonghwa’s voice reminds him of the days of when they first met, when Seonghwa would lead his team in a calmness that people trusted in to help them get through whatever they needed to get through. “He deserves the truth.”

Wooyoung bites his lips, but backs down immediately and Hongjoong wishes he could say something. Something that would break the uncomfortable tension in the room that was starting to make his head spin. But, from the weight of his limbs to his chest, everything felt so _heavy_. He was already trying so hard to keep himself awake. He can’t bring himself to exert anymore energy when the darkness was threateningly close at bay.

“Hongjoong, the drugs are out of your father’s system, just like yours, so he isn’t in any immediate danger. But during surgery, the doctors found out that the infection that’d been manifesting from a previous wound... has spread to his lungs and heart.” 

Hongjoong wants to register the stoicism in Seonghwa’s expression as he explains, wants to miss the other soft Seonghwa who spoke to him in low hums that grounded him. Instead, the words ring in his mind faster than he could catch. He mentally reads over them like he’s in kid learning to read his first book, but the meaning behind those words not catching on.

“Hyung, the doctors give him one week to live at most. Because of that, our Commissioner wants us to drop the case since it won’t be in the court’s best interest to sentence a _dead_ person,” Wooyoung scoffs, crossing his arms. “It’s unfair! After everything he’s done to you. Not to mention the murder and the two arsons.”

_Murder. Arsons._

Was this really his father?

Was this the same father he grew up having? The one who’d occasionally swing by Hongjoong’s school with presents in hand, greeting him like it was Christmas Day? The one his friends always envied him for? For having a father who treated him like Hongjoong held his world in his tiny self?

Seonghwa sighs, pressing a finger to the pressure point on his temple. “Perhaps, we could do something about it. To have him take responsibility for all his crimes. But that would mean you would need to testify against him on your end. It’ll be a driving point in supporting your case for sure—”

“My father’s dying?” The low grumble of Hongjoong’s voice snaps the two from their rambling. Hongjoong shifts his head back into place, digging into the dip of the pillow. 

_One week at most._

His father was dying. 

In a matter of days, his father would leave this earth sooner than he would’ve because Hongjoong had done the one inexplicable thing that had pushed his father into this unrecognisable monster.

Months of captivity. Being cut off from the world. Those, he could handle.

But to have his father commit despicable crimes far too illegal to come back from, all in the pursuit of _him_ , Hongjoong had couldn't think of anything else but to recognise it to be his fault. It had to be. 

It was all his fault.

All his fault that their warm and happy family of three was going to be reduced to one, cold and lonely person.

The darkness was knocking against his eyelids, inviting him to the emptiness that held within.

And this time, Hongjoong would give in.

Because it was far too much easier to fall apart than to face what had been staring at him too painfully obvious from the start.

_If it weren’t for him, his mother would’ve never had a reason to walk by that alley that day._

His eyelids lowered.

_If it weren’t for him, his father wouldn’t have been driven over the edge to fight for something as worthless as a traitorous son._

They were too heavy for him to carry.

_If it weren’t for him, his parents could’ve lived a happier life than the miserable misfortune they had been handed._

The oblivion takes him in, spreading like paint in clear water, engulfing him in every part of his mind and body until everything was murky grey. 

* * *

Seonghwa had been the sole witness to the darkening circles around Hongjoong’s eyes. 

Every day that passes by seem to chip the life away from Hongjoong, leaving him emptier than the day before. The only time Seonghwa would see a spark of life in his eyes was in the few seconds he’d wake up from his slumbe, only to have the reality come crashing upon his eyelids and swallowing him whole again.

To be honest, even if Seonghwa and his team _did_ manage to save Hongjoong from dying, why does he feel like he was _losing_ Hongjoong in a different way?

Three days was enough, Hongjoong’s doctor deemed, for him to be well enough to go home— as if there was a place in the area he’d return to. Seonghwa was already planning to take him back to Yunho’s, but surprisingly, Hongjoong wasn’t ready to leave the hospital just yet.

He’d been shocked when he came to get Hongjoong on the day of his discharge. The smaller boy tugged his sleeve lightly, eyes unfocused like they were a million miles away, and asking Seonghwa in a soft voice that he’d wanted to see his father. 

On any other instance, Seonghwa would’ve vehemently disagreed. 

Mr Kim had been the cause of the terror behind Hongjoong’s eyes, the reason he laid awake too late at night and too early in the morning, consumed by nothing but blankness on his face. Seonghwa couldn’t count the number of times he had to shake the boy awake from his whimpering, his heart breaking every time Hongjoong’s eyes peeled back, raw and wild, but almost immediately dulling before allowing the insomnia to clutch his eyelids.

But when the question was raised, it had been the first time Hongjoong has spoken in _days_. It was a request Seonghwa couldn’t refuse, but it also didn’t mean he was going to leave him in the same room as that _bastard_. Even if the said man laid before them in a catatonic state, a tube extending from his mouth, unmoving with the only sign of life being the rhythmic beat of the heart monitor.

Yet, Hongjoong couldn’t tear himself away from the room.

Even as the attending nurse ushered them out, Hongjoong tugged the ends of the couch, resisting even as Seonghwa pulled. In the end, Seonghwa had to pull some strings with the doctor to allow them to stay the night (his detective badge and the fact that the immobile body was still down for murder and arson was enough for the doctors to relent). 

Seonghwa watched from where he slumped himself on the couch opposite them, his eyes taking in the sight of Hongjoong, propped up on the chair next to the bed with his legs crossed, his sunken eyes caught onto Mr Kim's face like a fish on a hook. When the heaviness of his eyelids threatened sleep, his head bobbing in the lapses of his consciousness, he managed to pick up the soft voice that wrapped itself around his heart, reeling in each word.

“Appa, I’m here, okay? I won’t leave you anymore. Please. _Please_ don’t go.”

* * *

The next time Seonghwa had woken up, his vision caught onto the frame of a frail body hung over the side of Mr Kim’s bed, head nested in his folded arms, in the deepest sleep he’d seen Hongjoong has ever had in the past few days.

But what struck him awake was the pair of eyes, glistening in the moonlight, staring straight through to Seonghwa. His eyes blinked slowly, gaze unfaltering as Seonghwa swallows a lump threatening to form on his throat. Seonghwa returns the dark stare, a threat almost forming in his eyes. 

But there was something foreign in Mr Kim’s eyes. They weren’t the hard, stony stare he’d seen earlier when they 'met'. They weren't the daggers he shot Seonghwa as he bled on the floor.

There wasn’t anger in those eyes, it was far from it. Instead, it was the barest of glint of something different. Something like… like _thankfulness_.

Seonghwa was about to approach him when his phone vibrates furiously in his pocket. He frowns, pulling out the phone with Wooyoung’s name flashed across the screen. Even as he left the room, eyes trailing to where Mr Kim’s gaze had dropped on the soft, sleeping boy in his lap, Seonghwa kept his guard up.

But before he could even press the phone to his ear, Wooyoung’s voice comes booming through the speakers.

_“What the fuck, hyung!”_

“Wooyoung, it’s three thirty in the morning. Do you _not_ have a volume filter for your voice?”

_“Not until you tell me why we’re dropping the case on Kim Hadong! Are you out of your mind? We’re just going to let him go? Just like that?”_

Seonghwa presses his back against the door, leaning the heaviness of his body against it. He doesn’t like it either. To let someone who had done _so much wrong_ go off so easily. 

They’d spent nearly two months trying to catch him, putting their lives, even _Hongjoong’s_ , at risk, and now that they have him at the palm of their hands, there wasn’t even anything they could do about it. 

His commissioner was right. Hongjoong’s father was dying far too fast for them to build a case with the fragments of the evidence that they had. It would’ve been futile.

But his resolve came after hearing those broken words fall from Hongjoong’s mouth right before sleep took him away.

_I’m here. I won’t leave. Please don’t go._

There was a desperation in that voice. Something that had Seonghwa unwillingly pulling out his phone, sending the awaited email to his commissioner. 

Still, the injustice and dissatisfaction clung uncomfortably to his heart. 

But this was about Hongjoong.

This was about letting Hongjoong have the freedom to make his own choices.

For far too long, too many people have been making decisions for him- Seonghwa included.

This time, no matter how unjustified it might make Seonghwa feel, it was Hongjoong’s choice that mattered.

Even if Hongjoong chose to stay by his father’s side.

* * *

Trust was a thin line to walk on. Hongjoong had learnt it too painfully well.

That night, he’d made the mistake of trusting doctors, because ultimately, they had _lied_ to him.

They told him his father had a week to live. They told him that his father was going to be alive for a few more days.

But the _deafening_ _sound_ of a flatline blazed against his ears, shaking him awake. 

Hongjoong stood up immediately, eyes darting towards his father. The man remained still, positioned the way he was when Hongjoong had first stepped in earlier, still emitting the lifelessness he’d first seen.

But before, there was the beeping of the heart monitor to signal that there was still life in the paralysed body.

Now, there was nothing.

He knew it was coming. But why had it been so _soon?_ Hongjoong wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't.

_Scream. Run. Fuck, do something._

His feet remained planted to the tiles beneath him, ears blurring out the cacophony of footsteps and hurried hands shoving him aside. Everything had happened so fast. Too fast for Hongjoong to comprehend. His mind was dizzying, buzzing like he’d been staring at static tv for too long. His body swayed, momentarily losing balance before he felt a pair of hands catching him.

Seonghwa buries his gaze on Hongjoong with so much concern, Hongjoong wanted to puke.

_Don’t look at me like that._

_This was me._

_I did this._

He feels the nausea rising, bile forming at the base of his throat. His eyes remained focused at the pile of nurses, tugging back the blankets as a doctor applies periodical compressions to his fathers chest. Hongjoong feels so outside of himself as he registers the way the doctor slumps his shoulders, shaking his head before pulling the sheet up his father’s chest and over his head.

That moment, Hongjoong felt whatever was left of his life being snatched out of his body. He slumped against the wall, the pain against the back of his head echoing.

Everything felt too fast.

It was like sitting in front of a tv screen, watching all the events taking place outside of him. 

He simply just watched.

Watched as they wheeled his father out of the room. Watched as they had a quick funeral procession in the hospital basement where sudden deaths were promptly dealt with. Watched as the attending funeral processor placed his father’s urn next to his mother’s, keeping the glass display open before leaving Hongjoong alone in the vast openness of the columbarium.

Well, not alone. Seonghwa was standing mere steps away from him. But that thought sat at the back of his mind as the two delicate urns become focused in his view. 

And, Hongjoong finally finds himself coming back to the present, now that everything had come to a still.

His mother and his father.

They were right there before him, yet feeling far beyond any physical limitations could ever exceed. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know what to feel. Despair? He’d already felt that. He’d been swimming in despair since the days following his mother’s death. Anger? No, he had nowhere to place his anger anywhere but in himself. 

He stared longer at the two urns, his eyes burning.

His parents were there. But they weren’t. 

Something crawls in his chest.

All of a sudden, even in the bottomless pit of his mind, he notices the edge of something sticking out from where it was pressed against the side of the storage slot. Hongjoong could’ve missed it if he hadn’t been staring into the space for the time that he had. His eyebrows creased as he slotted his hand into the space, pulling out the paper.

Except, it wasn’t a piece of paper.

It was a photograph.

Hongjoong had recognised it so easily.

It was the three of them- his mother, his father and him.

In the photo, Hongjoong was squeezed in the middle where he sat, struggling, hands tugging and shoving his parents who sat on either side of him, crushing him in a hug. There was a border that carved itself into a heart with mini hearts lining the outline of it. 

It wasn’t a particularly significant day. Hongjoong had just remembered it to be one of those days his father had gotten off early from work to join them for lunch at a restaurant. The photograph had been the unfortunate product of his parents spotting a photobooth on their way back.

Hongjoong frowned. He doesn’t remember having this picture, let alone leaving it with his mother’s cremated remains. He flipped the photograph where his eyes caught onto dark letterings of a handwriting he’d seen too recently— coming in the form of notes that’d been haunting him. His father must’ve left it here.

But there was a secondary handwriting that scribbled on top of those words as they sprawled across in a swift motion in much more delicate, more _tender_ , words than the ones he received.

_‘Our beautiful son, you have turned out to be more than we could ever ask for.’_

_‘Our most precious little treasure. We will protect you ~~even with our dying breaths~~ **even from beyond the grave!! :DD ♡♡"**_

Hongjoong stared at those words. No, his eyes _lacerated_ through them. The words clawed at his chest, begrudgingly, a spread of something hot flashing through his body. He gripped the ends of the photograph, clenching his teeth. 

It was boiling. He was boiling beneath his skin. 

_Fuck this._ Hongjoong’s breaths grew heavier as he raked through those words again and again. _Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck this._

It was too hot. His muscles ached where they were tense, clutching the photograph. His fingertips burned where they edged on the photograph, so he smacked it against the glass displays, letting it float pathetically to the ground.

But Hongjoong was _boiling_. The muddy waters, the darkness that tugged his vision. They were all too much. Hongjoong couldn’t hold them back. Hongjoong couldn’t keep his head afloat. _They were all too much._

“Is this what you fucking wanted?” Hongjoog snarled, his sharp nails digging into the palms of his hands. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

“Hongjoong—“ 

He shoved those hands back.

“You’re so fucking selfish! Protect me?” Hongjoong hung his head back, laughing sharply. “Give me a fucking break!”

His voice echoes into the hollow space, booming through the air like he’d been screaming through a microphone.

But he didn’t care how loud he was being. He wanted to scream it into existence, let his words pierce through the realm beyond and reach his parents.

The pandora’s box had been flung open. Words and emotions were flying out before he even had the time to process them. He felt everything and nothing from the heat of his veins to the carelessness of his pathetic, bleeding heart.

“If you wanted— to _protect me_ —“ Hongjoong cries in between his ragged breaths, jaw clenching as his piercing eyes targeted the two simple urns “then you wouldn’t— have left me— so fucking _alone—“_

His chest was hurting, his eyes were stinging with so much heat, it compromised his vision. He clutched his chest, the pain coursing through every fibre of his body burning him alive.

“You— promised—“ his breaths were getting too short, too fast for him to get the words out. The air became significantly thin for him to breath. Spots gathered in what was left of his vision as his knees buckled.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the way he was going to die.

He feels himself collapsing, but right before he hits the ground, a pair of hands wrap around him, catching him in an embrace. Hongjoong feels himself getting pulled into something solid, something _grounding_.

But he doesn’t want that.

He doesn’t want to be pieced back together.

He _wants_ to fall apart. He wants these emotions, this _pain_ of being left behind to consume him. 

He doesn’t want to be held so gently after all he’s done. 

He doesn’t deserve it. 

He pounds his weak fists against the chest, not aware that the hot tears had been streaming in a flaming trail down his cheeks and into the shirt he’s soaking. He screams into the chest, shoving backwards. But the tight hold around him was far too strong, too _inviting_ for him to push away.

He doesn’t want to be held.

_But he needed it so badly._

His desperate screams bubble down into croaked sobs, Hongjoong losing the strength to hold himself up much longer. Instead, his head falls against Seonghwa’s chest, tucking himself under his chin, his whimpers muffling against the firmness. The cool tiles under his knees wash over the last of his heated outburst, and suddenly, Hongjoong is made aware of the familiar motions weaving through his hair. Seonghwa’s fingers curled, tousling in the locks of his wavy hair, the circular motions spreading a sense of... of comfort.

“S—Seonghwa,” Hongjoong’s voice rasped from the thawing his throat out earlier. “W—Why— Why did they— if they loved me— why did they leave me?”

Seonghwa rocked them backwards and Hongjoong felt his bones relaxing at the motion. His hands fell limp on either side of Seonghwa’s waist, too tired to be moved. His eyes felt dry from all the crying, a heaviness in them replacing the heat.

There was a pregnant pause between them. Hongjoong wasn’t expecting an answer. He’d only said what he felt. What was tearing his heart down tissue by tissue for days that he could only now comprehend them in words.

“They didn’t leave you, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa spoke lowly, his voice vibrating his chest that felt rather calming against Hongjoong’s cheek. “Leaving means they’re not thinking about you in their absence. Leaving means you’d be forgotten. They haven’t forgotten you, Joong. They’re still here, in every memory, every photo, every feeling that you have for them. They’re still here with you, pieced together through your existence.”

Hongjoong stared at the lonely piece of photograph he’d tossed away. The words glare at him, but not as threateningly as they were before.

Was Seonghwa right?

Was his parents still with him? Thinking about him?

Even after he had led his mother to her death and drove his father to insanity?

Even if his existence was a mistake—

Seonghwa pulls them apart and the air felt too cold between them that Hongjoong had almost let a whimper escape. But the other cups his cheeks, lifting his face to meet his eyes.

There was something profound in Seonghwa’s eyes.

Something that wanted to pull Hongjoong into _his_ world.

Something that wanted to fight the screaming voices pushing Hongjoong's head under the water.

Something that makes Hongjoong want to shut his violent thoughts away and focus on Seonghwa’s magnetic gaze.

“Your parents are lucky to have you. Maybe the universe was too cruel in taking them so soon, in ways so wicked, but don’t think for a _second_ that left you in this world all alone.” Seonghwa held him so gently. His hands felt so warms against his cheeks. His pupils darted, scanning Hongjoong’s dry face with so much care. “You are Kim Hongjoong. You are strong, stubborn, so unnecessarily sarcastic that it’s borderline endearing.” 

“You built a life for yourself. A life with your choices. A life with people who care enough to worry about you.” Seonghwa captivated him with his words. If not, it was his glistening eyes that were pulling him in. “And I don’t doubt that, seeing how much they fought for you in this world, they would do it again in the realm they’re watching over you in.”

Hongjoong hiccuped. His eyes desperately search Seonghwa’s face for any signs of him lying. But the expression that cascaded over him was genuine. As if those words weren’t just meant to comfort Hongjoong. 

They had been the rawest truth.

Trust was a fine line to thread on. 

But Hongjoong found himself wanting to trust Seonghwa again.

* * *

When they arrived in front of Yunho’s house, Hongjoong hadn’t expected to be body slammed by a pile of giants the second he entered. They thrashed him to the ground, smothering him in tight embraces that Hongjoong hadn’t known where one body began and another one ended. 

All he knew is that the rocks crushing him had forgotten just how tiny Hongjoong was compared to them.

“Guys—“ Hongjoong breathed harshly “—air or I’m about to die—“

“Ya! Get off him you three. You're gonna kill him after we tried so hard to save him?”

Thankfully, Seonghwa manages to pull Mingi off first, tossing him to a corner before attempting to do the same with San, but his nimble bodied friend pivoted fast enough to wrap an arm across his chest, slamming him into the couch.

“You too, hyung! We missed you so much!” San shrieks, like _actually shrieks_ , rubbing his cheek against Seonghwa’s so roughly, they were smushed. Seonghwa can do nothing but struggle under his hold.

Yunho’s heavy weight still piled on top of Hongjoong’s but not entirely crushing him. Hongjoong was about to pull away until he felt something oddly cold and wet trickle down his neck.

“Yunho—“

“I was so fucking _scared_ , hyung,” Yunho breathes sharply against his neck. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Hongjoong stopped himself from moving. His lips fell hearing the fragility of Yunho’s voice. Yunho held him tighter, as if the second he slackened, Hongjoong was going to slip away from him. 

Hongjoong’s heart ached. He had been so lost in his own world the past few days that it hadn’t occurred to him just how his friends were feeling. He had been so focused on himself, he forgot to be the hyung the others looked up to him to be. He had forgotten to be the older brother he pledged to be for Yunho, making the latter worry sick about him instead.

Slowly, his hands curl around Yunho’s back, tightening the embrace on his own, burying his nose in his shoulder and breathing in the comfort. “Don’t be so sure. I don’t think you could get rid of me _that_ easily.” He felt Yunho smile against his neck as they held each other longer, the upturn of his lips naturally forming on his own face too. 

“Where’s Wooyoung and Jongho?” Seonghwa asks when San had finally decided to release him from his death grip.

Yeosang slams the fridge from the kitchen, peeling a mandarin as he walked towards them. “They stopped by the convenience store on the way. They should be here—“

The door swings open forcefully. So timely uncanny.

“Yes, it’s your favourite boy, Jung Wooyoung! No need to hold back your applause.” Wooyoung parades into the living room with two paper bags in his hands. Jongho strides in right after, carrying two plastic bags with no one missing the dramatic eye roll on his face.

They settle the bags on the table in front of the couches, everyone piling around closer at the delicious waft of fresh food. Even Yunho had pulled away from Hongjoong, rubbing the moisture from his eyes, smiling deeply at him before scrambling towards the table to claim a good spot quickly. Hongjoong chuckles, finding amusement at the way his friends flocked like flies at the presence of food. He settles in the spot next to Yunho, who squeezes closer to him despite the insane amount of space he had on the other side.

Jongho lifts the food from the bags and Hongjoong’s breath hitches when he realises what they were.

_Ice cream and fries._

“You…”

He lifted his gaze, meeting seven grinning expressions holding him in a soft gaze.

He’s never felt such warmth under their stares. They held pride in their gazes, like they’d been planning to surprise Hongjoong with the familiar comfort food he introduced to some of them about _ages_ ago, knowing it was probably what he needed most right now. Judging by Hongjoong’s quivering lip that morphed into a grateful mask of features, they knew they had succeeded.

“We all need a little comfort in our lives right now, hyung,” Mingi offers, tearing open the lid of the ice cream tub.

“Yeah, the past few weeks have been crazier than the past few _years_ of my life,” San adds, his eyes rolling back for emphasis. “Luckily, Mamma Kim gave us the right recipe for times like these.”

Hongjoong’s heart tugs at the mention of his mother. His lips curled even deeper as he feels his throat constricting.

_They were keeping the memory of her alive for him._

He felt his mother’s presence in the way Yeosang’s eyes lights up on his first bite and the way San moans into the dessert like he’d been craving it for so long. He had to take a minute to absorb the sight of his friends, dipping their sticks of fries into the velvet ice cream, drawing delight from the taste and making idle conversation.

Just like he and his mother had. 

“Wooyoung ah, you guys bought enough ice cream for an apocalypse. How the hell did you even pay for all this?” Yunho glances at the said boy briefly, popping a fry into his mouth.

Wooyoung shrugs. “Not my money. Seonghwa hyung earns the most out of all of us. He paid for it.”

“Wait what—“

His friends sat before him, the familiarity of this feeling was intimate. 

Just like the memories of his mother. The way her eyes twinkled when she feeds Hongjoong her ice cream-dipped-fry and the latter shooting a satisfied smile, not just at the taste, but at the comfort of his mother who was there with him.

_"They’re still here, in every memory, every photo, every feeling that you have for them."_

_"They’re still here with you, pieced together through your existence."_

Hongjoong’s gaze lands on Seonghwa, who had been frisking Wooyoung’s pockets for his credit card while the latter only smirks mischievously, not even sparing him a glance.

Seonghwa was right about that.

His mother was still alive— not in the uncomfortable way it had been when he returned to his family home.

His mother was alive in these _moments_.

In the memories yet to be created. 

She hadn’t left Hongjoong in a burnt photograph or through cremated ashes. 

Hongjoong hadn’t lost her. At least, not in the way he feared.

She was still there with him, in the people willing to keep the memory of her alive.

A vanilla-coated fry is shoved into his view, snapping Hongjoong away from his thoughts.

Yunho tilts his head, his brows curved and a concerned, yet playful grin curving his lips. “Hyung, you’re not joining the party?”

Hongjoong takes the fry into his hand, twirling it as a gentle smile stole his lips. He folded the fry, putting it in his mouth whole and the clash of cold sweetness and hot savoury attack his tastebuds. 

He relishes in the taste.

In the memories.

In the comfort.

His parents may have gone to a place Hongjoong couldn’t reach, but in their place were seven more people, willing to cling onto him so tightly to lives.

* * *

Hongjoong woke up feeling a different weight on his chest.

Not the kind that sapped away his energy, making him unwilling to move.

But the kind he found himself appreciating for replacing the heaviness that had been there for days.

Even then, he was still very aware of his mortal need to breathe.

Locks of hair tickled his nose, so he stretches his neck, wiggling himself away for breath. He shimmies his arm from— Yunho’s? — crushing weight, using his meagre strength to shove his body away. Yunho turned over slowly, licking his lips like a puppy as he moved. It would’ve been endearing if Hongjoong wasn’t so out of breath from trying to get him to move. 

At some point during the night, they had all piled into Yunho’s room, still high on the sugar rush. They played games (they had to stop the whisper challenge because they were starting fires in friendships Yunho’s neighbours would sue them for hearing), wrestled for a good spot in the bed (of course Jongho had sent everyone else flying off the bed but he might have let Hongjoong slip through). When their energy was spent, they packed like sardines, limbs clinging onto limbs, laughing, delirious, reminiscing in memories Hongjoong had nearly died laughing over.

The night— it wasn’t perfect.

Perfect meant that this was the epitome of what it’s like being together.

No. They had something more.

They had experiences yet to be discovered, memories yet to be made. 

This was just a taste of what it’s like to have family.

Restlessness tugged his eyelashes, letting him know sleep was not going to come so soon. So, Hongjoong shoves Mingi’s leg off his waist and props himself up. The room was dark, but he navigates through the darkness easily, creaking the door open and shutting it softly as he left. 

The living room was a mess of tissues and dried ice cream and empty tubs with cold fries.

Seonghwa was going to have a field day cleaning this up.

The chuckle reverberates of his chest as he picks up the tissues and tossing them into the tub, gathering the mess as much as he could. He might as well give him a hand right now.

When he steps into the kitchen, the lights were on and the microwave was turning, heating up the packed food inside. Hongjoong tilted his head, but his eyes widened in surprise when a familiar figure pops her head out from the fridge.

“Eommeonim?” 

Yunho’s mother gleamed when her eyes met his. “Aigoo, Hongjoongie ya!” She steps away quickly, scurrying with quick steps over to him. She wasn’t much taller than he was, making him always wonder where Yunho had gotten his height from, but it made it easier for her to cup Hongjoong’s face in her hands.

Hongjoong misses the ways her eyes crinkled, the wrinkles forming where she smiled. Maybe because his and Yunho’s mothers grew up as best friends together, but Mrs Jeong had always reminded him of his mother. Her eyes searched Hongjoong’s, warmth swirling in her pupils. But, just as Hongjoong was about to tell her how much he missed her, she releases her hold and pinches his cheeks, swaying his head in a familiar ache from side to side. 

“Ah— Eommeonim!!“

“Aigoo! What is this I heard about you ending up in the hospital? Not just once, but _three_ times? That's why I told you to eat and grow muscles, didn’t I? Look at you! You're still so tiny!”

“Eommeonim— ah— I’m sorry— I’m sorry—“

He’d forgotten, despite her small size, just how sturdy her grips are. Even when they’d settled down, Mrs Jeong’s famous tea in two cups in front of them, his cheeks were red and stinging. He crinkles his nose, trying to wring out the pain.

“Sweetheart,” Mrs Jeong breaks the silence with her gentle voice as she places her warm hand on Hongjoong’s. “How are you doing?”

Hongjoong chuckles nervously. “Wow, Eomeonim, I forgot how strong your pinches are—“

“And yet, you never learn.” Mrs Jeong leans in, her brows furrowing and her eyes darkened. “Now, Hongjoong. Stop avoiding the question. How are you _doing?”_

He knows that tone. He’s heard it from Yunho too many times before. He knows he can’t lie, and he’s not so sure he wants to either.

Hongjoong bit his lower lip, lowering his eyes.

“I… I don’t know.” Hongjoong truly didn’t. Everything had happened too fast for him to comprehend. There were so many things he had only come to know about in the past few days than he’s had in the past two years. “I… I’m not sure. There’s so many things I don’t understand but—“

His bit his tongue sharply, turning away. The flash of heat flushes his face faster than he could fathom, a layer of glass stinging his eyes. The truth he’d been debating over his head clawed at his chest, tearing the flesh underneath. 

The hand resting atop his squeezes. "But what, sweetheart?"

“I— It’s all my fault.” 

His breathless voice almost eroded into a sob, but he catches himself in the last second. He can’t cry anymore. He won’t allow himself to.

“It’s all my fault. They died and it’s my fault. Eomma was killed and Appa was— was suffering alone and I k—killed him— “

Hongjoong doesn’t even hear the chair creak. He was deep in his thoughts now. All of them, crashing over each other, swirling into motions too dizzying as they spill through his mouth.

“Maybe— Maybe if I was never born, then m—maybe they would’ve lived a happier life without me—”

A hand cups over his mouth, startling him as he locks gazes with Mrs Jeong. She had a fire burning in her eyes. Was she angry? No. It was like a calm storm brooding behind those irises. Her lips twitched as she creases her brows.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you _ever_ say something like that.” Her words were sharp like knives, piercing through him deeply. “You— Hongjoong ah— you don’t know just how _precious_ you are to them.”

She leans back, hands sliding to cup his cheeks instead and Hongjoong kept his eyes peeled. The denial was sitting in his chest but never falling out.

“Did you know? Your parents had a hard time conceiving a child. It took them _two years_ before your mother got the news that she was pregnant with you,” Mrs Jeong spoke softly, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks. She chuckles, reminiscing. “Youna was practically on top of the _world_ when she told me. Her eyes lit up when I’d ask her what she’d name you.”

No. Hongjoong did not know that. Hongjoong did not know a lot of things about his parents. But this— this was the first thing he’d learnt about them that didn’t butcher his heart in cold murder.

“Kim Hongjoong— to be the centre of the wide world.” She held him in a captivating gaze, never letting him slip back into his mind. _“You_ are the centre of _their_ world, Hongjoong. Your existence is their happiness. They may have received unfortunate fates, but at the very core of everything that’s happened, they _did_ love you and they have never been happier to have you as their son, Hongjoong ah.”

Hongjoong didn’t know how to feel. Even as Mrs Jeong pulls him in for a hug, he doesn’t know _what_ to feel. 

But those words had quelled the demons in his mind. They’ve put out the existing fires in his brain, and now he was smothered in its ashes.

He stood outside on the rooftop, leaning against barrier overlooking the neighbourhood. The cold summer air stuck to his skin as the crickets sang their lullabies into the night. Yet, his eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the photograph in his hands.

His family of three.

_‘Our most precious little treasure.’_

His fingers glided over the ghost of their faces, the sombreness on his face matching the melancholy he felt inside.

There was a sound of a door opening and shutting and footsteps promptly followed, the new presence leant over the barrier just like he had and Hongjoong could tell without sparing a glance who it was.

"So this is where you were..."

The silence blankets them. The crickets echoes like background music to their ears.

“My life is a fucking drama.”

Seonghwa tilts his head towards him, his brows knitting in confusion at Hongjoong’s sudden confession but latter kept his gaze the photograph. Seonghwa recognises that photograph from the columbarium they were at before. Hongjoong snorts, a meaningless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Do you think I was a good son to them?” Seonghwa trailed his eyes back to Hongjoong’s dull ones. The question must have been daunting him, eating away at him for days… or maybe even years. 

Seonghwa fiddles his pockets, the sudden ruffling stealing Hongjoong’s attention. He pulls out his phone, swiping at his screen until the audio file that’s been kicking at the back of his mind came up. He turns the screen towards Hongjoong, illuminating the puzzled expression on the boy's face.

“What’s that?”

“It’s… It’s the voicemail recording of your mother’s last phone call to your father.”

Hongjoong fell silent.

“It’s your mother’s last words.”

Seonghwa tries to scan Hongjoong’s expression, but the boy kept his gaze on the screen. He couldn’t read the emotions on his face, but Seonghwa hoped he hadn’t crushed the boy with the reveal.

The wound were still fresh on Hongjoong’s heart. He was only beginning to heal from the whole ordeal. But Seonghwa’s conscience and bad experiences nagged for him not to conceal anything from Hongjoong anymore. He was done keeping Hongjoong in the dark for the things he had the right to know.

“Did you… Did you listen to it?”

Seonghwa nods. “Everything that I heard. Everything that I’ve seen about you… It’s an undoubted truth, Hongjoong. You’ve always been a great son to your parents. Your life is a gift to them, and the fact that you’ve chosen to live even after all that’s happened, that’s the only thing a parent could ever ask for.”

Lying to Hongjoong would be the last thing he'd do. It was the simple truth. Seonghwa had enjoyed learning about Hongjoong for the past few months that they'd known each other. In Seonghwa's eyes, Hongjoong was one of a kind.

Maybe Hongjoong didn’t smile, but Seonghwa could tell the comfort and relief he felt by those words. As if it’s something he’s been told before but needed a confirmation.

“If it’s okay… I don’t want to listen to it.”

Seonghwa cocks his head, the question written over his face unexpectedly.

But Hongjoong had looked so… small before him. Maybe, small wasn’t exactly the right word. More like, if he were to listen to the audio right now, he didn’t know how he was going to be able to piece himself back together after that.

Seonghwa bit himself from asking. Instead, he veered a different direction. “So, what _do_ you want to do?”

“Well, I could really use some sleep right now. Wooyoung's snoring decided to trespass into my dreams, I could barely get enough rest.”

Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head. He knows. The amount of times his partner slept through the drive to a crime scene after pulling an all nighter had given him enough experience to become immune to them. “No, I meant like, with your life? Where does Kim Hongjoong go from here?”

Hongjoong pauses, his eyes rolling to the top, lips thinning as he thoughtfully ponders over the question.

“I think… I think I wanna get out of here.”

The answer catches him by surprise. Seonghwa snaps his head towards him.

“I… I want to be here with all of you. I want to live through many more experiences, share many more laughs and do more stupid things with all you again,” he smiles, but it quickly fades. “But— It's just— I can’t think properly. My head’s still in a fucked up mess— I just— You guys have become my family— I don't wanna fuck this up— There’s so many things that I can’t— I—“

Seonghwa squishes his cheeks, stopping the fragmented words from spilling any longer. He almost chuckles at how wide Hongjoong’s eyes had gotten. “You don’t have to explain it to me, Hongjoong. This place has given you enough nightmares. You can leave. That’s your choice to make. No one elses.”

Hongjoong frowns, pulling his brows together. He clasps his hands around Seonghwa’s wrists and Seonghwa’s mind buzzes at how warm they felt. “Not leave. Leaving means I won’t be thinking about you. Leaving means I would forget about you. I don’t want that. I still want to think about you when I’m gone. Let’s call it… a delayed return.”

Something hot flashes through his chest.

Hongjoong had used Seonghwa’s words against him, but they sounded many more times _beautiful_ than Seonghwa had put them before. He looks to this Hongjoong, eyes sparkling under the moonlight, holding Seonghwa like he meant something. Electricity runs through his veins, kicking everything within him alive. Seonghwa smiles belatedly. 

“A delayed return it is.”

* * *

“Wooyoung, move your ass out of my face!”

“Ah, hyung! Did you just _bite_ me?”

“Your hair looked delicious…”

“Guys, seriously! The timer’s gonna go off!”

“Goddamit, Wooyoung, _move.“_

The flash envelops them completely and seconds later, the polaroid rises from the slit of the camera. Yeosang stalks over to the camera stand, taking a moment to scan the photo. His eyes darken, tossing the photograph towards Yunho. “Wooyoung, I’m going to _stab your ass.“_

Hongjoong watches in amusement as the Wooyoung bolts, screaming with Yeosang hot on his tails, the two running up and down the street like children. Everyone else just seemed unbothered by them. 

“Here you go, hyung.” Yunho hands him the polaroid and Hongjoong rakes his eyes over the picture, throwing his head back in laughter. 

The camera captured the colourful moment of Mingi biting into Jongho’s hair as he flinches away, Yeosang’s government ID photo-like expression half covered by Wooyoung’s strutting ass, San and Yunho making devil horns on Seonghwa’s and his heads… and Seonghwa turning his head at the last second, his eyes locked onto Hongjoong as the oblivious boy winked at the camera with a peace sign over his eye. 

The photo encapsulated everything that they were. 

Chaos.

A mess.

_A family._

Yunho sneaks a hand around his shoulders, pulling him into a headlock and aggressively ruffling his hair as the latter stumbles, trying to regain his balance. “Look at my hyung, all grown up now! Starting a new life on his own! Oh, hyung, what am I going to do without you?”

Hongjoong peels himself from Yunho’s hold, gratefully appreciating his smaller frame. “Maybe study up on how fragile small people are.”

Yunho snorts but he puts his hands on Hongjoong’s shoulders, staring at him fondly with a thin grin across his face for a moment. He leans in for a hug, his breath tickling against his neck as he whispers breathlessly. “I’m gonna miss you, hyung. Please be safe. You know you can always come back here, right?”

The warmth radiating from Yunho’s body pulls him in closer. He nuzzles into Yunho’s shoulder, well aware that this comfort, this pillar of strength that’s kept him standing for so long, was going to be a while before he could feel them again. “I told you, Yuyu. You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll be back. I love you guys too much to let you suffer my absence.”

Yunho pulls him back, flicking a finger to his forehead but before Hongjoong could even register the pain, he kisses the red spot.

“I can’t believe I said I’d miss your snarky ass.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes but the smile never left his lips, even as Yunho retreated to catch up with the others.

“They’ll really miss you.” Hongjoong flips around at the sudden voice, almost bumping into Seonghwa but the other catches him gently, steadying him. He felt his heart tug at the motion.

He was going to miss that.

Seonghwa steadying him.

Seonghwa catching him before he fell apart.

Seonghwa making sure he was alright and holding him gently, even if he wasn’t.

“You’ve really grown on those kids. I heard Wooyoung and Yunho crying over you in the kitchen last night, even if they tried to blame it on the onions. San tried to convince Mingi to ship your train ticket away and Jongho only ever lets Yeosang dye his hair when he’s upset.” At the sound of Seonghwa’s sweet laughter, Hongjoong naturally lets the smile steal his lips. “You’re really leaving me with them?”

“You survived this long without me. You’ll figure it out.”

“Yet, you’ve successfully claimed every part of our lives. I can’t even remember a time without you...”

Seonghwa’s eyes twitched down towards Hongjoong’s hands, the hesitancy clear in his eyes, yet, he remains still. Seeing this, Hongjoong took the opportunity to snatch his hands, holding them tightly from where they hung as his eyes scan over Seonghwa’s surprised expression.

“We’re not strangers anymore, Hwa. If you tried grabbing my hands when we first met, I would’ve bit your head off. But now, if you did, my heart would just flutter.” Seonghwa’s eyes grew wide at Hongjoong’s words. But it was the truth. If Seonghwa was going to be honest with him, he was going to be honest with Seonghwa too. 

Seeing Seonghwa’s pupils shake as he stared, Hongjoong’s face fell. “W—What?”

The other boy shakes his head quickly. “No, no. It’s just. You caught me by surprise that’s all.” He lets out a breathless chuckle as a soft smile spread through his lips, claiming Hongjoong’s heart with elevated palpitations. “I’ve solved every case I’ve been given, read people just through their expressions. But you, Kim Hongjoong? You’re still the biggest mystery in my life.”

Hongjoong pouts, leaning back by only an inch. “Well, come back to me when you’ve solved the mystery case behind your _amazing_ seductive skills.” 

The heat paints Seonghwa’s face in a pretty pink. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.”

The deep laugh that escapes Hongjoong, shaking his body in giggles, left a comforting warmth in its trail.

They had come so far from where they had begun.

The two of them were a pair that included a socially awkward detective and a paranoid escapee. All things spelt disaster from the moment they first met.

But they worked.

Maybe for a fearful moment, Hongjoong had doubted Seonghwa when the anxiety and insecurity blazed rampantly through his skin, but he’s never felt safer than when he is in Seonghwa’s hands.

He leapt to the tip of his toes, twisting his head slightly and planted a deep kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek, feeling the latter stiffen underneath. When Hongjoong pulls away, Seonghwa lips were parted, gasping at him in shock. “Hongjoong…”

“Thank you, Park Seonghwa.” Hongjoong smiles, the sincerity, warmth and love dripping from the edge of his lips. “Thank you for letting me trust you.”

Seonghwa held his own cheek, caressing the spot where Hongjoong had connected his lips. But before Hongjoong can feel embarrassment seize his cheeks, San calls out to him, saving him by the bell.

“Hyung! Your Uber is here!”

Hongjoong shifts his body as a car comes to a stop but suddenly, his body is pulled forwards, arms wrapping around him, encasing him in a tight embrace that oozed everything Seonghwa had given him.

Comfort. Safety. Ease. 

“Thank you, Kim Hongjoong. For being so strong.”

The words tug around his heart, attaching themselves, building a forcefield that was sure to shield him for times when he needed it later on. He snaked his arms around Seonghwa’s back, burying his face into the crook of his neck. Not long after, he felt more arms wrap around him, enveloping him whole like a safety blanket. And Hongjoong had accepted and savoured each one.

Even as he steps into the cab, waving back.

Even as the sight of his friends shrink the longer the car drives on.

Even as the vehicle was en route to take him to a place where no one can find him.

The thought was clear in his mind, crystal like a diamond, solid as a boulder.

He may be escaping the lanes and alleyways of this little town, but he wasn’t escaping the memories he made here, the people he’s met and had gotten significantly close to, the life he had started from that little family restaurant.

If Hongjoong was the treasure his parents fought the world to protect, in some ways twisted than the other, then this...

This life that he’s built around his friends-turned-family and learned to salvage the memories of his parents-

 _This_ was Hongjoong’s treasure.

And, in his own ways, was the treasure he was going to protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SCREAMING.
> 
> So, as it turns out, I'm not ready to let go of these characters just yet.
> 
> SO AN EPILOGUE IS COMING!!!
> 
> AAAHHHH.
> 
> I'll try to post it as soon as I can but subscribe to this work if you wanna be alerted when I do!!
> 
> ANYWAYS, DID YOU ALL ENJOY THE STORY???
> 
> Leave me comments and let me know what you thought!! 
> 
> Or scream at me if you may.
> 
> I'll leave my ending thoughts for the last (like actually last this time lol) chapter.
> 
> Until then, hope to see you in the epilogue~


	10. It’ll always be us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who is Kim Hongjoong?"
> 
> The question strikes him harder than he thought.
> 
> The thing about Hongjoong was that there were not enough words in the dictionary to describe the kind of person he was. 
> 
> With him, there was just always something more.
> 
> “Where is Kim Hongjoong now?”
> 
> Seonghwa sighs, having heard that question flash through his mind with every passing day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute but I'm BACK. 
> 
> hehe hope you're not sick and tired of me just yet. But this last chapter was born out of my strong refusal to my stories without a sense of CLOSURE -- or maybe this was just an excuse to write seongjoong fluff oops 
> 
> also, irl Ateez has me screaming with their MAMA perf and bagging trophies I just- IM SO PROUD OF THEM so I had to channel all my love in writing ofc
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the epilogue~
> 
> (p.s I got the translations to the songs from colour coded lyrics so credits to them yea :D)

Seonghwa feels like a fish out of water.

He was _waaaay_ out of his element with this assignment.

He’s used to dealing with serial killers, thieves, kidnappers— anyone that, at the very least, had a jail sentence hanging over their heads. It was easier to put on a stoic face, threaten them with piercing eyes and rough them up when they got out of line.

So, how does he go from handling malicious criminals… to handling a child no more than nine years old?

Seonghwa stares tensely at the doe-eyed little girl sitting across from him. The girl pays no attention to him, oblivious to the rampant thoughts running in his mind as she hums softly to the song playing in her headphones. Her undivided attention was occupied by the swirling mix of colours she was sprawling across her drawing pad.

Yunho slides a juice box in her view, the girl immediately lighting up at the sight of it, thanking him for the refreshment, then returning her focus on her drawing.

“You’re bringing her where?” Yunho throws the question, but his eyes remained locked on the girl, cooing at her adorable display.

“Anyang,” Seonghwa replies with a sharp breath, dropping his tense gaze to rub his temples. “There’s an orphanage there willing to take her in.”

His friend’s expression falls, morphing into something bordering shock and sympathy. “Does she not have any relatives here to take care of her?”

“Not anyone willing.” The words burned against his tongue bitterly. His eyes narrowed with an unfocused gaze as he remembers the scuffle he had with the little girl’s aunt, who’d vehemently rejected the request, spitting words no nine year old should ever hear. “All her extended family members decided to blacklist hers after news got out her parents got busted for drugs.”

He trails his eyes towards the child in front of him, his heart dipping at her carefree behaviour. All criminals were equally bad in his mind, but he had a special place in the depths of his hatred for those who got innocent children involved. 

Moon Yoonhye is as innocent as they come— Barely had a footstep out into the open world when the universe decided to descend a cruel fate onto her tiny shoulders.

Seonghwa and his team had been preparing _months_ for the drug bust. Mr and Mrs Moon were a part of a larger cartel that had been sinking their dirty claws into their neighbourhood’s youth. It was after much preparation that they finally staged a house raid, seizing every bag of the varied range of narcotics they had in possession. A sense of satisfaction blooms in their chest for the successful bust as they dragged handcuffs over the two key figures of the syndicate. 

That was until they realised they had a pair of doe eyes watching them innocently as her parents were being unwillingly led into police cars.

These criminals have a special place hell reserved for them, Seonghwa would make sure of it.

“Anyang’s two towns over, though,” Yunho adds, the melancholy sticking to his features as he flickered his gaze over to Seonghwa. “Wooyoung’s not going with you?”

Seonghwa snorts attractively, gaining Yoonhye’s attention but the girl quickly dismisses it and returned to her colouring. “I’ll need more than handcuffs to restrain that boy from jumping out the car. He had half the mind to burn his impending reports just to leave early from work. I don’t think he’ll be enthusiastic about a six hour car ride. Besides, the wedding is the only thing on his mind right now.”

As much as he would’ve liked his partner by his side throughout the long journey (he would rather be dragged to hell than to admit it, but Wooyoung _was_ better at handling kids than he was), Seonghwa didn’t want to bother him with something he was more than capable of doing on his own. Besides, he wasn’t keen on being on the receiving end of San’s passive aggressiveness for stealing his soon-to-be husband on the week of their wedding.

“And Sannie’s got Jongho preparing all sorts of things. I’d respond to his cry for help but I’d rather not have a ticking time bomb San on my ass. It’s not worth the crossfire,” he shrugs, picking his vibrating phone from his pocket. The text across the screen read the address of the orphanage they were going to head to, along with the information that a caretaker was ready for their arrival.

Yoonhye removes her headphones, stealing the two away from their conversation. “Ahjussi, do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”

“We have gamjatang and samgyetang left. Would you like some?” 

Yoonhye scrunches her nose. “I want ice cream.”

Yunho pouts for a moment, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling as his mind sifts through the contents of their restaurant’s fridge. He clicks his tongue, snapping his fingers before rising from his seat and disappearing into the kitchen. When he returned, a familiar looking tub of ice cream they had shared two days ago and a red packet of fries were wrapped around his hands. 

It was a necessity in their houses and the restaurant now; Ice cream and fries. Piling into either of their houses or the restaurant with the comfort of food and friends melting the stress away, was a weekly routine. It was the time of the week they chased for when their days were roughened by work, insatiable people or unwanted feelings. It was a tradition that couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ break.

...although, the trailblazer’s absence was too painfully obvious to them whenever they all gathered for the delicacy.

Yunho holds an ice-cream-dipped-fry in front of Yoonhye, the latter narrowing her eyes at him like he was crazy. “Try it. You’ll like it. It’ll taste like heaven in your mouth.”

It was evidently clear from the bloom on her face as she took her first bite that it was indeed, heaven in her mouth. She was enthusiastically eager to dip another fry into the tub, the reaction all too familiar to the other two already. Yunho chuckles, resting his cheek on his palm. “You can thank Kim Hongjoong for the discovery.”

“Who is Kim Hongjoong?” Yoonhye garbles, cheeks full of fries and ice cream as Seonghwa moves her drawings away to prevent the sticky saltiness from getting all over them. But the question strikes him harder than he thought.

_Kim Hongjoong._

“He’s…” Yunho trails, eyes unfocusing to a memory land Seonghwa knew too well. “He’s someone special to us. He’s a beautiful person inside out. He’s the kind of person you’d miss even when you’re there with him.”

And he’s been the only person on Seonghwa’s mind since the day he left.

The thing about Hongjoong was that there were not enough words in the dictionary to describe the kind of person he was. Hongjoong was the type of person who’d leave you on the edge of your seat, teasing you with a taste of his captivating personality until you learn that there was no limit to the surprises he held within himself.

With him, there was just always something _more._

“You would’ve loved him if you met him. He doesn’t give you a choice. You’d just fall into his entire being without even noticing.” Seonghwa’s voice was laced with an incomprehensible tone, a touch of a smile falling carelessly on his lips.

Time had been cruel to Seonghwa. 

No matter how much time has passed, the aching pain and longing in his heart never quelled since the day Hongjoong had left them to a place he'd never know.

“Where is Kim Hongjoong now?” The curiosity peaked through her small voice, her eyes darting between the two boys, but an cheerless gaze had already seized Yunho’s eyes as he turned towards Seonghwa.

Where _is_ he now?

It’s been four years since they had last seen or had even _heard_ of the boy. Not a single text, or a postcard— not even a word of a passing mouth had graced their way. 

Hongjoong did not want to be found, and after all he’d been through, all of them had been understanding enough to give him the space he asked for. But what is Seonghwa supposed to think? What is he suppose to tell his fearful heart with each passing day Hongjoong doesn’t return to them? He was getting used to shoving these doubtful emotions somewhere deep, _deep_ into the creases of his mind he wouldn’t allow himself to access, only allowing himself to the promise of his fateful return.

Because Hongjoong _was_ going to return. He wasn’t going to leave them forever...

… right?

Seonghwa sighs, his chair creaking across the floor. “We should get going. We don’t wanna get there too late.”

Yoonhye didn’t seem to mind the change in tone across the air, only smacking her palms together to release the salt sticking to her fingers. She hops off her chair, wringing her arms through the straps of her bag Yunho had so kindly he readied for her. 

Seonghwa swung the door open, allowing the little girl to scurry past him first. But his eyes trailed over to the space behind the counter, the absence of a boy with a mop of curly brown hair making the sight seem bleakly incomplete.

* * *

The ride to the orphanage was better than Seonghwa had expected. He feared the awkward silence would expand throughout the entire six hours of the ride, but surprisingly, Yoonhye was all too eager to strike up conversation after conversation with him. 

They shared the same interest for dramas, despite their stark difference in age, that had them passionate about exchanging which ones were their favourite, which actors they had an eye out for and which drama moments made their hearts flutter. 

Maybe making casual conversation wasn't so hard after all.

As Seonghwa glanced over to her sleeping figure after two hours into the ride, he can’t help the adoring gaze in his eyes. 

This was _worlds_ better than dealing with criminals.

The sun had only begun to set by the time they had arrived at the location. Much to his surprise, the orphanage was much, _much_ more extravagant than he’d first imagined.

Beyond the gates, the hanok-styled building sat grandly at the centre of the football-sized field. Acrylic handprints and characters from children books were artistically painted along its walls. Flowers ranging from every colours, bold and pastel, accentuated the building from where they were architecturally planted. 

With the sun peeking from the horizon, the sky was painted in a glorious pink, further projecting the overwhelming sense of comfort protruding from the orphanage that entire building seem much more heavenly. Echoes of children’s laughter rang from within the building, surprising them both by how light and inviting the atmosphere was.

Walking through the gates, Seonghwa felt his heart tug when Yoonhye slipped her hand into his, clinging onto his hold desperately. When he glanced, the girl had her eyes shaking furiously as she scanned the place, a fearful expression taking over her features. He squeezed her hand tighter, offering a gentle smile that dissipated the fear by only so much.

“Detective Park?” The man greeting him from the doors smiled, holding his hand out for a handshake. “I’m Kim Taehyung, the Chairman of this establishment.” After Seonghwa had returned the handshake, the chairman squats immediately, meeting Yoonhye face to face, who was adorably trying to disappear behind Seonghwa’s legs. “And you must be Moon Yoonhye! We’re all very excited that you’re here! The other kids won't stop talking about having a new member of the family.”

There were two little boys next to Taehyung, bouncing on the balls of their feet, heads switching back and forth from Seonghwa and Yoonhye to the booming peals of laughter echoing from behind them. One of the boy smiles excitedly at Yoonhye, holding his hand out. “I’m Minhyun and this is Haneul.” 

Yoonhye finally steps out from behind Seonghwa, meekly putting her hands into his. But, all of a sudden, as if the exhilaration they’d been trying to keep under wraps finally spilled through their fingertips as the boy tugs her forward, pulling her towards the hallways with giggles spilling from their mouths. “You’re just in time! Jack Frost is going to dance for us tonight!”

“Boys! Be gentle! We’ll walk there together.”

Yoonhye lets herself be tugged away, leaving Seonghwa and Taehyung to trail behind the elated children with an uncontrollably endearing expression on their faces. The sounds of enthusiastic chatter continue to grow as they walk down the hallways that unsurprisingly complemented the orphanage’s grandiose exterior. 

“Jack Frost?” Seonghwa breaks the question as he peeks over to Taehyung. “You have an animated character working for you?”

Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. “He’s one of the caretakers here. Honestly, I don’t know how I could’ve managed all the kids here without him.” They turn a corner and an alluring tune of music starts to grace their ears. “The kids love him. They call him Jack Frost because he acts like a guardian of the children here.”

_A guardian of the children._

Seonghwa could feel the tenderness dripping from the title, his heart melting at the warmth. He was glad that the children here had someone like that. Someone to care for them when they didn’t have families of their own. Someone to count on as family even without the connection of blood. Maybe he was starting to entertain the idea of leaving Yoonhye in their care.

The kids ahead of them burst through the doors leading to a large hall, allowing Seonghwa to take in the sight of a field of children, singing along and moving animatedly as they sat, gathered in a circle, clapping their hands. 

Seonghwa pauses by the door, watching the back frame of a petite figure who stood in the middle of the children, swaying his body with practiced moves to the music, and he feels entranced by his swift movements. The children seemed to be captivated by his enchanting performance, and to be frankly honest, Seonghwa was too.

At the height of the song, the children rose to their knees, clapping with uncontrollable smiles as they sang along in one voice to what Seonghwa would assume was the chorus.

_“Nareul gamssajweo, my Aurora!!”_

When the dancing figure turns around to face the crowd behind him, it was like the cruel clutches of time had slowed down, the world dimming in Seonghwa’s eyes with a spotlight on the person he had had his eyes latched on.

His heart plunged into his chest, breath caught midway in his throat. His blood ran cold, pricking his skin into goosebumps as he drinks in the sight of him, blinking to see if it was merely a hallucination. 

But it wasn’t.

This person really is…

_“Kim Hongjoong…”_

“You know him?” Taehyung whips his head when he caught the breathless whisper, his eyes peeled in surprise. He gasps, like realisation flashes through his eyes. “You’re _that_ Park Seonghwa?”

This couldn’t be real.

The Hongjoong in his memory had a small frame, brown and curly hair on his head and a figure that curled into himself, unwilling to be in the centre of attention to observant eyes watching his every move.

 _This_ Hongjoong had a head of thick hair the colour of snow, was much bulkier and had a presence that exuded a radiating confidence Seonghwa had never seen in his Hongjoong.

Even when the music ends, the kids piling on top of Hongjoong as the latter laughs, spinning them in circles, Seonghwa can’t keep his jaw from unhinging. 

Was this really Hongjoong? 

No. The universe doesn’t work on miracles like that.

It couldn’t be real.

He wants to snap out of this illusion, this _mirage_ his mind was playing on him before he was suck into believing that this was really _his_ Hongjoong. 

Taehyung calls out to him and Seonghwa panics. He drops his head, the ground seemingly more interesting than anything else in the room. He hears the soft jogging steps grow closer as his heart pounds faster, heat burning his ears.

The footsteps freeze a few steps away from him, but Seonghwa doesn’t have the courage to look up.

“Hongjoong ah, is this the handsome detective you’re always talking about?”

Seonghwa shoots his head up at the words that caught him by surprise. 

But then, he finally _sees_ him.

The familiarity of everything Hongjoong. 

The raised and curved eyebrows that grew animatedly whenever he was astounded. The roundness of his widened eyes, his gaping jaw making his cheekbones ever prominent.

The celestial orbs he’d been longing to see— the memory of them in Seonghwa's mind not doing enough justice to the ones he was looking into right now. The longer he stared, the deeper he felt himself falling into those eyes. But Seonghwa couldn't pull himself away not that he was sucked into them. Looking into them now, he felt like he was coming home after being stranded in the desert for the past four years.

The shock on Hongjoong’s face slowly relaxes, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, but Seonghwa was still having trouble registering the situation. It was still incomprehensible to his mind— the man he’d been waiting for for four years, the one who he hadn’t heard a peep of, yet couldn’t let a day slip by without thinking about. That man, right in front of Seonghwa, lips upturned with a smile that reached his sparkling eyes.

Now that Seonghwa was tentatively aware of the close distance between them, his vision only occupied by the sight of this… new Hongjoong, his senses start to come back to him, and Seonghwa could taste the melody in the air, breathe in this intoxicating fresh wave of cinnamon, and _feel_ the glowing gaze of Hongjoong’s on him.

The gleaming smile never falters as Hongjoong kept his eyes locked on Seonghwa’s, arms crossing gently across his chest.

“Well, this is one _hell_ of a surprise, Park Seonghwa.”

* * *

Seonghwa wondered when he was going to wake up from this dream. This blissful dream that feels all too _real_. He wants to crack his eyes open, curse his lonely mind for playing dirty tricks on him, and let the yearning sensations surging through his system dull again.

Because right now, sitting in front of the very person he’s longed to see for the past four years, Seonghwa hadn't had the slightest idea how to react. His throat felt dry, any possibility of words spilling out coming close to none. 

Hongjoong tilts his head, scanning his Seonghwa’s face with slow, patient eyes, like he was drinking in every feature of his face and comparing it to the image he’d supplied himself with in the four years they were apart. 

But Seonghwa wasn’t as bold as this Hongjoong was. 

His eyes flickered from the steam that ascended from the hot chocolate he had in his hands and the amused gaze Hongjoong was pinning him under. He bit his lip, letting his mind wonder to the quiet stillness of the building now that the children were all tucked in bed, because it was easier than to imagine what Hongjoong was doing here, how he got here, and just why the _hell_ was the universe doing to this to him right now.

He tries with every bone in his body to remain calm, hoping his jittering hand goes unnoticed as he takes a long sip from his cup.

“Just as I thought,” Hongjoong affirms confidently, leaning back into his chair with the fattest grin on his face. “You’re waaaay more handsome than I remembered.”

The liquid in his mouth slides unassumingly down his windpipe, forcing him to choke out the drink as his face burned the same heat as the hot chocolate on his tongue when he registers Hongjoong’s words. In amidst his choking tears, he sees Hongjoong sniggering to himself, handing him a tissue which Seonghwa readily accepts, wiping the stray droplets from his mouth.

“When Taehyung sunbaenim told me we were having a detective from Gwangju coming in, I had my hopes it was you. But still, I can't believe you're _actually_ here.” Hongjoong smiles, leaning forward, cupping the hot chocolate around his hands. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting to see you. I talk about you and the other boys _all the time_ with my kids.”

_My kids._

“You…” Seonghwa trails, but the words die in his mouth. He doesn’t know where to begin. The questions run unbridled in his mind, but sitting between them was a gap of four years. Where did their relationship lie? Was it alright to talk about what happened? What was Seonghwa supposed to say to this fresh version of Hongjoong he had never met before?

Why were conversations so hard?

Hongjoong sighs resentfully, lowering his gaze. “I should probably explain myself, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t have too…” oh, but was Seonghwa _dying_ for an explanation.

“No, I want to.” Hongjoong clicks his tongue, brushing locks of his silver hair behind his ear and Seonghwa’s eyes followed the motion, something curling in his chest at the way Hongjoong glowed from the littlest action. “I… When I left four years ago, I travelled from town to town. At first, I really had no destination in mind. I just wanted to taste the power of being free, you know?”

Hongjoong licks his lips nervously, glancing briefly at Seonghwa. But the latter was only listening attentively to what he had to say, because it had been four years and Seonghwa was finally getting filled in with the blanks his imaginative mind could only make excuses for before. 

Taking his silence as a sign to continue, Hongjoong smacks his lips, twiddling his thumbs at the handle of his mug. “But I knew things weren’t going to get better on their own. I still— I had a rough time handling the thoughts in my head on my own. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t have the courage to return home just yet. I couldn’t stand the sight of myself and I thought I had let everyone down in my life for just simply disappearing.” Seonghwa’s heart constricts at Hongjoong’s words, having no idea that the boy he cared so much for was having such a hard time alone. “I needed help… and that’s when I met Namjoon sunbaenim.”

Seonghwa takes in the way Hongjoong’s eyes light up at the mention of this… _Namjoon_. As much as he could just melt at the sight of the soft smile on his lips, Seonghwa couldn’t shake the acid burning in his heart at the thought of not being the reason behind that smi— wait. Was Seonghwa being _jealous?_ He shoves the feeling down his throat.

“Namjoon sunbaenim was a customer at this restaurant I found work at. To this day, I don’t know how he knew, but he immediately saw through the cracks.” Hongjoong presses his lips thin, oblivious to the way Seonghwa was digging his nails into his palms. “That’s when I learned that he was a licensed therapist, and damn was he the _kindest_ therapist I’d ever met. He gave me a place to stay in the house he was staying in with six other friends, all the same compassionate souls as he was. They listened, talked me through my struggles, and gradually, I was learning to understand myself again.”

Seonghwa’s fists slacked from their tight grip, his eyes softening listening to Hongjoong. Jealousy (?) was an mask to wear. Here Hongjoong was, relating his journey to heal himself like he’d promised four years ago and stupid Seonghwa was letting his mind throw daggers at this image of Namjoon he had in his head. He burns— _incinerates_ the thought away, leaning himself closer against the table.

Hongjoong snaps his eyes towards Seonghwa, his gaze melting every other thought away. His lips twitched and the set of sparkling teeth peeked from where they hid behind his lips. “The thing is, I’ve always had the reasons to fight the demons in my head in me all this while. What these sunbaenims did was to help me erode the doubts and worries that clouded them.”

His lips run dry when Hongjoong places his hand over his closed fist. Seonghwa stared at the burning sensation that enveloped his hand, his skin tingling where the heat travelled throughout his body. It was clear that Hongjoong wanted Seonghwa to say something, but all his stupid voice could conjure was a croaky, “…and…”

Hongjoong’s face falls for a second, retreating his hand and the sudden gust of cool air that sticks to his skin comes undesirably. But he quickly regains his composure, flicking his gaze to the ceiling above. “And then… I was slowly healing, I guess. But I still wasn’t ready to go home just yet. So, Taehyung sunbaenim offered me a place to work here, thinking it'll help me find what I was searching for.” As quickly as the frown disappeared, a broad, contagious smile stole its place. 

That smile sparked images from the hall of children, vibrant with life breathing through their souls in the form of laughter, screams and feverish limbs flashing in Seonghwa’s mind. But what burns through all those images is the thought that the reason behind all that happiness and excitement... was _Hongjoong_.

_“The kids love him. He acts like a guardian of the children here.”_

Seonghwa lets the tender smile gently take his lips, his eyes locking onto the silver-haired boy who had the fondest expression dripping from his features. In that moment, he couldn’t feel anything but relief knowing, now, that Hongjoong had turned out better than he expected. The worries and frustration that accumulated in his absence had all melted away at the sight of Hongjoong.

Because Hongjoong was _finally_ here. With _him_. 

“Well, I, for one, am honoured to be in the presence of Jack Frost,” Seonghwa smiles, watching Hongjoong’s eyes grow in astonishment. 

The latter drops his head, kneading his palms into his face as he groans playfully. “They told you about that, huh?” His soft laughter breathed comfort through Seonghwa’s veins. “To be honest, I dyed my hair just to amuse them. Glad you’re finding the charm.”

In the mildly lit darkness, Seonghwa bathes in the sight of Hongjoong, and Seonghwa _knew_ that his heart was laced with Hongjoong’s very existence in every tendon, reviving the warmth of life he’d been missing for so long. And Hongjoong was here, as ethereal as ever, returning the soft smile on his face that Seonghwa wanted engraved into his mind and tattooed to his brain.

Out of the blue, Hongjoong’s eyes flickered, falling to his lips.

In that moment of silence, the world stilled.

A burst of adrenaline races through Seonghwa's blood when his gaze falls on the boy's lips as well.

Suddenly, those lips were the only thing running through his mind like a blaring alarm.

Something pulses through his veins, beckoning, _craving_ to taste.

Seonghwa’s heart pounded too loud in his ears, his skin tingling with— with _exhilaration_ as he watched Hongjoong lean closer, feeling himself do the same. 

He could almost taste the breath of hot chocolate on his lips as Hongjoong tilted his head, willing his eyes to flutter closed.

But right when their lips were just a touch away, they were suddenly forced backwards in a rush at the sound of pounding footsteps coming to a halt just a few steps away from them. Seonghwa felt his soul collapsing, almost exhausted by the tension that left his body along with his heart that exploded in his chest. 

“Ssaem!! Yoonhye is— come quick!!” The boy— Minhyun, Seonghwa remembers— blurts without a breath to spare, fear encased in his eyes.

Seonghwa doesn’t allow himself time to register, only whipping his head towards Hongjoong, who shared the same serious concern expression as he did. The both of them spared no hesitation, bolting from their seats to follow the boy down the twisted hallways, stopping at the sight of Yoonhye, twisting and turning in her bed as she whimpers heart wrenchingly, beads of perspiration soaking her pillows.

Just as Seonghwa was a foot away from stepping in, Hongjoong was already brushing past him, dropping to his knees as he pulls Yoonhye from the bed. At the sudden motion, Yoonhye releases a sharp gasp, her eyes scanning Hongjoong’s hauntingly as she desperately tries to catch her breath. Her lips trembled after a moment, her face crumbling when the ghosts of her nightmares washed over her eyes. When the tears threaten to fall, Hongjoong pulls her in, wrapping his arms around her tightly, rocking her back and forth as she cries loudly into his chest.

Hongjoong combs his hands through her hair and down her back repetitively, soothing her with low hums of comfort. “It’s okay, Yoonhye-ssi. You’re here with us right now. You’re safe.”

The cries fail to die down as the surrounding kids shift uncomfortably on their feet, worry washing over the features.

“Yoonhye-ssi, I know about your parents,” Hongjoong raises in a calm tone, but the words surprise Seonghwa. “You must be hurting right now, aren’t you? It’s okay to feel hurt, Yoonhye. What happened… what's happening. All of it. It’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to go through so much pain.”

Hongjoong continues to rake his fingers through her hair, weaving through the soft, flowing locks in motions Seonghwa recognised all too well. “But Yoonhye-ssi, you should know that what your parents did, it’s not your fault. Somewhere along their life, they took a wrong turn and ended up hurting you with their actions. All you did was trust your parents like a child should. You did nothing wrong.”

The words come strikingly close to home. Seonghwa’s eyes flickered from Yoonhye to Hongjoong. It was clear that those words were meant to comfort the devastated child, but something in Hongjoong’s unfocused gaze made it seem as though those words had been rehearsed, repeated in his mind to himself over and over again. 

The words spilling from his mouth, it was like a truth that Hongjoong believed in.

Gradually, the crying quietens into soft whimpers, but Hongjoong doesn’t let go of her just yet. “Their actions aren’t not yours to take responsibility for. You are Moon Yoonhye. You are your parents daughter, but you are you, too. But then again, you’re also not alone. Look around you, Yoonhye. Your parents may not be here, but _everyone_ here are now your brothers and sisters. They’re your new family, ready to listen to what you have to say, comfort you and lift the heavy weight off your chest. You’re not alone, Yoonhye-ssi. You have us.”

The image of Hongjoong with the all of their friends— San, Wooyoung, Jongho, Yunho, Yeosang, Mingi— all of them, runs through his mind. Somehow, listening to his words, they felt intimately relevant, as if Hongjoong was trying to convince Seonghwa of the thoughts that ran through his head, of the truth that he’d discovered in the time he was gone.

Yoonhye pulls away when her whimpers died down to sniffles as Hongjoong wipes the last few stray tears from her eyes, an affectionate smile encasing his lips. He lets the young girl leave her hands on his shoulders, leaning closer so they don’t fall.

“Thank you,” she whispers barely in the intense silence that shrouded the room. But hearing those words, the kids release the bated breaths from the throats, relaxing their tensed bodies as they crowded closer to the two.

“Jack Frost hyung did it again!” A boy shouts, a giddy smile on his face. “He made Yoonhye happy!!”

A tender smile replace his lips as Seonghwa watches adoringly at the kids, encasing Hongjoong and Yoonhye in a tight hug. He welcomes the warm pride in his chest watching the boy he’d been completely enamoured by for years to surrounded by so much love.

The someone who the kids had to care for them deeply.

The someone to treat them like family when they had none.

That someone was Hongjoong.

That single thought takes over his mind like a storm, seizing him whole. It was a thought that crashes over him with a painful realisation.

These kids _need_ Hongjoong.

Hongjoong is where he belongs. 

Here. 

With _them_.

Suddenly, it was impossible to keep the smile on his face. The wave of incoherent _sadness_ claws through his chest. His pupils shake, finding the ground for some kind of balance. He can’t bring himself to watch the scene anymore, turning his heels and making quick strides down the hallways and out the door. 

The chilly air hits his skin, but they fail to cool down the heat rising to his face. Unwillingly, the pain in his chest grows, transforming into a layer of glassy tears in his eyes. He paces, anything to stop himself from the wave of emotions threatening to spill.

“Seonghwa?” that voice. The one coming from the person he had been waiting to meet for years, but right now, was the last person he wanted to see. Yet, at the gentle touch on his elbow, Seonghwa turns to meet his worried eyes which grew at the sight of his glassy ones. “Seonghwa, what’s wrong?”

Seonghwa refuses to let Hongjoong see the embarrassing tears in his eyes. He tilts his head upwards, willing for the watery surface back into his eyes. “I-I… I don’t know,” he chuckles humourlessly, the pain echoing in his chest. 

When the tears refuse to disintegrate on their own, Seonghwa drops his head, pressing his palms to his eyes in frustration. “I-I don’t know, Hongjoong. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I hate it. I hate myself for feeling annoyed at you. I hate that I don’t want to see you stay here with these kids. I’m so fucking selfish and disgusting and— I— I—“

A choked sob escapes him before he even had a chance to stop it, but the slip opened the floodgates, soaking his hands and face with a mix of salty tears and snot. He feels a tentative pause before a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him close and Seonghwa trembles into his shoulder. 

Hongjoong rubs his back in a repetitive motion, but his hand immediately reaches up to thread through his hair in the comforting motions he’d missed so much.

They stay like that for a minute, Seonghwa taking in deep breaths to stop the overflowing tears from soaking Hongjoong’s sweater. When his body stops shaking, Hongjoong pulls them apart, brows knitting as he tries to read through the wild emotions on his face. 

“Come on,” he sighs belatedly, before dropping his hands from where they were placed on Seonghwa’s arms. Immediately, though, he slides a hand in his, entwining their fingers as he leads Seonghwa to a sheltered corner of the building, guiding him to sit before taking a seat next to him.

Seonghwa watches him, his eyes filled with unshed tears but he’s not willing to cry. He simply watches as Hongjoong fishes his pockets.

“When I was in therapy, I had a hard time… expressing myself. Namjoon sunbaenim told me to channel all my anger, worries and emotions through writing, and from there, I moulded them into lyrics and expressed them through different songs.” He finally slides the phone from his pocket, swiping through it until an audio file that reads ‘THANK U’ dons the screen. Hongjoong holds his breath for a second, exhaling deeply before tapping the screen to play.

The tune plays and Seonghwa holds his breath, the delicate voice filling his ears.

**_These days, I’ve been thinking about it._ **   
**_Maybe I’ve been doing pretty well, and the proof is you._ **

Seonghwa could see the tips of Hongjoong’s ears burning an intense red at the corner of his eye, but he kept his ears attentive.

**_I’m ashamed to say this,_ **   
**_but you know what I mean._ **

“I…” Hongjoong drags, biting his inner cheek. “I wrote this song thinking about you.”

Something pounds against Seonghwa’s chest.

**_When I thought of you,_ **   
**_I felt sorry a lot._ **

“I told you, didn’t I?” Hongjoong rubs the nape of his neck, enflamed by a bright tinge of red. “I told you I was always going to think about you while I was away.”

**_I have something to say._ **   
**_That’s what I wanted to say._ **   
**_I’ve been thinking about it all night._ **

“The only reason I was able to pull myself together—“ Hongjoong leans closer, their knees touching “— is because I knew I always have you.”

**_Thank you._ **   
**_Thank you for being on my side._ **   
**_Thank you for walking with me._ **   
**_Thank you for being on my side._ **   
**_Thank you for being able to lean on each other in a tough world._ **

“I was always going to come back to you,” Hongjoong soothes, slipping his free hand into Seonghwa’s and the latter admires the stark contrast of his tiny hand in his. “I couldn’t before. I didn’t want to love you until I had the heart to love myself. I want to give you my whole, my entire being, my strength. But I couldn’t until I figured out what _that_ was.”

Seonghwa lifts his gaze from their intertwined fingers, but his breath hitches when his eyes lock onto Hongjoong’s. 

Those celestial orbs.

_The home that was held within in._

“But I’m ready now.” Hongjoong leans closer, tilting his head to meet Seonghwa’s, his magnetic gaze pulling him in. “I’m ready to come home now. I’m ready to love you with all that I have.”

**_You and me_ **   
**_You and me_ **   
**_It’ll always be us._ **

Seonghwa leans in completely, closing the distance between them as their lips met with force. Hongjoong jolts in surprise, his phone slipping through his fingers, but he quickly melts into the kiss, shutting his eyes and wrapping his hand around Seonghwa’s neck, pulling him closer.

There was something in the taste of Hongjoong’s lips on his that had him feeling completely _astronomical_.

He tasted like warmth and love in a single being. He tasted infinite, like every second that had been lost without Hongjoong by his side was dull in that moment. Seonghwa wonders if Hongjoong could taste the desperation in the kiss from waiting for _so long_ for taste of his lips on his, his body wrapped in his arms and his heart to feel connected to him.

When they pull away only in the intense need for oxygen, Seonghwa lifts his eyes in time to see Hongjoong’s eyes flutter open. His face was flushed, lips glistening and plump from their kiss and eyes lidded in an entranced gaze. Seonghwa couldn’t control the overpowering smile on his face, soaking up every sense, every sight, every feeling before him.

Hongjoong looked _ethereal_ in his hold.

He was dripping with a heavenly beauty Seonghwa’s incapable mind did little justice of recalling in the last four years.

The irresistible smile capturing his lips, together with his alluring scent mixing with his, was making Seonghwa giddy. He pulls Hongjoong closer, peppering kisses he couldn’t seem to control over his face as Hongjoong laughs lightly.

“You mean that? You’re really coming back home to us?” Seonghwa asks, his heart shaking violently in his chest. Hongjoong nods and the flash of warmth travels through every bone in his body as he pulls him in for another encapsulating hug. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that. Hearing it now, it sounds like a dream.”

“I’ll pinch you if you want me to,” Hongjoong chuckles, bringing his hands around to hug Seonghwa’s waist.

Seonghwa couldn’t bring himself to let go, now that they were sharing the body heat he had so desperately been waiting for for all these years, but the question still claws in his chest. “What about your kids? Are they going to be okay with letting you go?”

“It won’t be easy, but they’ve always known that me being here was just temporary. Besides, I’m not the only one they have. They’ve got seven amazing human beings to look after them,” Hongjoong explains, his breath tickling feverishly on his neck. “As for me, I have seven children of my own to take care of.”

The laughter spills naturally from his mouth and he feels Hongjoong’s lips curve into a smile. “What are you going to do once you get back, though? Do you have any plans?”

There was a pregnant pause before Hongjoong pulls away, a thoughtful gaze stealing his eyes away. “I thought about it a lot. What this place gave me was more than the happiness I got from these children. This place gave me purpose.” He smiles, returning his gaze to Seonghwa. 

“I want to go back to school and study to become a trauma psychologist. Spending time with these children, I realise I want to be the one who’s there for those people who feel trapped. Those who feel like there’s no escape. I want to be there for them when they’re at their lowest. To help them find their freedom.” 

Just when Seonghwa thinks he couldn’t fall deeper in love with the boy, Hongjoong proves him wrong. He cups his hands over his cheeks, gazing lovingly into those orbs that held his universe before planting one last kiss on his lips, the electrifying sensation reviving on his lips.

“I don’t doubt that you’ll succeed.” He holds him in a tight embrace once again, breathing the intoxicating smell of cinnamon mixing with his own musky scent. “And sorry about running out and bursting into tears like that. That was pretty embarrassing.”

Hongjoong releases a heavy laughter, shaking their bodies. “That’s alright. It’s my job to calm down crying children anyways.”

Seonghwa delivers a tight pinch to his side.

* * *

Seonghwa leans onto the car door with his arms crossed, his eyes filled with adoration watching Hongjoong struggle to tear the crying crowd of kids sticking to him like glue. 

When Hongjoong broke the news to the kids three days ago, a farewell party was quickly established that expanded throughout those three days. Not a day went by without the night ending in parades of tears that spilt from the kids to Hongjoong himself. It was heartbreaking to watch people so close to be split apart by cruel distance— he’d known that pain.

But what Seonghwa didn’t expect was for the kids to throw eye-piercing daggers at him whenever he passed by or the dirty pranks they pulled on him for coming and taking their Jack Frost away. It took a stern warning from Hongjoong that got them to back off when Seonghwa had woken up with his bed in the pool on one of those days.

Seonghwa wasn’t good with kids but he does truly feel sorry for them. He’s dealt with many cases where children were ultimately orphaned, an entire chunk of their existence forced to part with them. Which was why he had so much respect for Hongjoong and this orphanages’ caretakers for returning the light into their eyes and giving them a second chance at a life that had been taken away from them.

Hongjoong jogs over, his eyes puffy from the marathon of tears as Seonghwa helps him into the car. With the promise of returning for frequent visits, Hongjoong waves to the crowd of tear-stricken children and his sunbaenims (Seonghwa makes a mental note to remember Namjoon's face, just in case) who stood with them before returning his darkened gaze towards the elder. “Alright, Hwa, drive quick before I flood this entire town with every droplet of water in my body.”

Seonghwa laughs, shutting the door softly and sliding into the driver seat, not wasting a moment to start that car like he’d been asked. They drive away, Hongjoong’s eyes trailing the orphanage woken up in every single day for the past three years as it minimises into a speck before disappearing. 

He’d remember every face, every moment and every piece of happiness he received for a long time. He’d treasure the orphanage just like he treasures his friends for giving him a fresh breath of life he had to be thankful for.

“I hope you’re buckled tightly.” Hongjoong readjusts himself on his seat, turning to face Seonghwa with a pout on his lips. “We’re going to floor it or else we’d be skinned alive for being late to the wedding.”

Hongjoong furrows his brows in confusion, crossing his arms. “What wedding?”

“Wooyoung and Sannie’s wedding.”

_Wooyoung and San—_

“WHAT?” Hongjoong freezes after shifting his body abruptly. His jaw gapes, eyes widened to the whites when he registers the words. “San— Wooyoung— They— _Today?”_

Seeing the latter nod, puffing his cheeks to stop the laughter from falling, Hongjoong throws his hands exasperatedly. “Seonghwa! You can’t blurt news like that and not give me a full report! If you give me a run down on everyone in one minute, I’ll kiss you.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raise at the challenge and suddenly, Hongjoong is balking at himself for the words that spilt without his consent. “I can do it in ten seconds.”

“An unnecessarily brave man, but okay.”

Seonghwa takes a deep breath, albeit desperate not to fail. “Wooyoung proposed and Sannie lost all sense of language when he said yes. We’re so happy for them and love them to bits but right now they’re being the biggest bitches panicking over their marriage but that’s okay—” 

Hongjoong grimaces, but the happiness for the two of them breaks through. 

“Yeosang’s passively aggressively trying not to show he’s upset that he wasn’t the one getting married first but— and no one else knows this— Mingi’s planning on proposing tonight after the wedding—“ 

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, snapping his head towards Seonghwa. 

“—Jongho got promoted to chief forensic inspector and Yunho opened up a small clinic with his psych degree.”

Seonghwa inhales deeply, smirking knowingly when Hongjoong raised his brows checking the clicks on his watch. “Damn, Seonghwa. You really did it. Maybe I’ll get you to rap in one of my songs later on.”

The latter shakes his head as he kept his eyes on the road, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Well? I was promised a kiss, wasn’t I?”

“No, actually, you failed.” Seonghwa turns to him, narrowing his eyebrows with a protest on his lips. “You talked about everyone but yourself. So, sadly, no kiss for you.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes at the boy who shrugs his shoulders teasingly. Hongjoong was playing hard to get, because to be honest, he’d do anything to kiss those lips which he’d only regretted not kissing when he left four years ago. But Hongjoong is a wicked tease so he looks away to observe the _oh so_ interesting empty roads ahead with a flippant smile on his lips.

“I fell in love.”

Hongjoong tenses.

“Y-You what—“

“You asked about me,” he monotones, keeping his on the road with a blank expression. “I fell in love.”

The words sharpened like knives, prodding the skin around his heart. He sucks in his cheek, playing with the loose threads of the leather seat. “W-Wow. Okay. Um—“

“We met at a restaurant,” Seonghwa informs and Hongjoong wants to roll his eyes because _big deal._ The two of _them_ met in a restaurant. “I tried flirting but he thought I was being a creep.” _So what?_ Hongjoong internally scoffs, the acid burning on his tongue. _He’d turn Seonghwa down before. This person’s not so special._ “Thankfully, the more we spent time together, the better our relationship got. But when I finally realised how deeply I fell for him, he left town.” Hongjoong wants to groan. _Yeah, so what if that dude—_

Wait.

He turns to Seonghwa, squinting. A giddy smile spreads slowly on the latter’s lip. “You don’t know how happy I was when he told me he loved me too. It made the four years worth the wait now that he’s here with me.” 

Seonghwa darts his eyes back and forth from the road to Hongjoong, folding his lips to hide the smile forming on his face, oblivious to the heated gaze on the boys face. Hongjoong doesn’t feel the sentiment. Instead, he leans over, biting Seonghwa’s shoulder _hard_.

“O-Ow! Hongjoong!” Seonghwa flinches, whipping his head, his eyebrows curved in disbelief. “Did you really just _bite_ me?”

“Did you really just play with my feelings?” Hongjoong raises his arms defensively. “Seriously, Seonghwa, jealousy is ugly on me.”

Seonghwa peels his eyes in surprise, glancing at Hongjoong. “Really? I thought I was being romantic.”

“Romantic my ass.”

Seonghwa’s- Hongjoong concluded- flirting skills did _not_ age like fine wine.

“I’m sorry.” Seonghwa slides his hand into Hongjoong’s, bringing it up to his lips, pecking it. “I’ll make it up to you. Is there anything else you wanted to ask?”

Hongjoong takes a tentative moment, the question playing in his mind for a while now. But he’s a little afraid to ask. 

“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa rubs circles on the back of his hand, eyes lacing worry. “Is there something wrong?”

He doesn’t pause to shake his head, not wanting the latter to worry about nothing. He licks his lips, sighing carefully. “It’s just… This might be a stretch but… I just…”

“Take your time, love.”

“Do you…” Hongjoong breathes. “Do you still have my mother’s voicemail recording?”

Seonghwa looks taken aback by the question. Seeing this, Hongjoong immediately backfires. “It’s okay if you don’t— I just— I thought—“

“Hongjoong, it’s alright.” Seonghwa pulls the car to a stop by the side of the road. He pulls out his phone, scrolling over the screen.

“Oh, Seonghwa— you don't have to search for it now—“

“Don’t worry about it. I have it saved in a special file just for you. I knew you’d be willing to hear it one day. How can I refuse when you’re being so courageous right now?” Seonghwa sifts through the glove compartment, pulling out headphones and plugging them in.

“Well… I mean… we could’ve just played it on loudspeaker…”

“I think it’s better if you listen to it alone,” Seonghwa replies, handing the phone to him with a soft, loving gaze. “It’s an intimate call. This message was always meant to be only for you anyways. It’s a conversation between you and your mother alone.”

Seonghwa’s words were like a soft blanket wrapping around his heart. For someone who was terrible at flirting, Seonghwa had always known the right words to say to make him feel so… so loved. So cared for. Like Hongjoong’s comfort was always his first priority.

He loves the gleam in his sparkly eyes, loves the soft features that cascade over his face with so much tenderness, and he absolutely loves the human beneath it all.

Hongjoong leans in, pressing a long, warm kiss over the plump of his lips, wanting to give Seonghwa every shred of love he has for him. For all his patience. For all his compassion. For all the love Seonghwa was willing to give _him_ despite all the horrors he’d seen in Hongjoong’s life.

Seonghwa was the one who filled the gaps in his heart, completing him whole.

Parting their lips, they share one last intimate look before Seonghwa readjusts himself, starting the car and returns to the road. Hongjoong sinks himself into the seat, exhaling deeply before plugging on the earphones. His fingers hovered over the button. 

_He can do this. He’s waited four years to be this prepared._

He clicks play, immediately hearing the sound of raspy breaths that constricts his heart.

_“… and Hadong, my love, please play this message to our son…”_

Hongjoong holds his breath, shutting his eyes. He’s built courage and prepared acceptance in his heart, yet, nothing could stop his skin from blazing, rekindled after the many years he hadn’t heard his late mother’s _voice_.

He feels a warm hand wrap around his and his body instantly relaxes at the touch, releasing the heavy breath. 

Despite the painful longing for his mother, he knows it now. 

He knows that he’s not alone. 

He knows that there is still life within him, willing to love and accept love from others.

_“... Kim Hongjoong… my little prince… I'm so so sorry for leaving you like this. I wanted to live through... the most memorable moments of your life. I wanted to watch you.. grow taller than me... when you found the right person to fall in love with... Be there for you... through all your heartbreaks and happiness… but since I won’t... I hope you'll listen carefully... because I’ll be giving you a lifetime worth of advice... in under a minute... haha...”_

Yunho’s house was booming with an echoing chaos, voices screaming for tuxedos, make up to be done and the innate / _fear_ / that Yeosang was going to burn a hole into their slacks from his lack of ironing skills. 

It was almost historically _comedic_ when they stepped into the house, all the screeching coming to an abrupt stop, eyes stilling at the silver-haired boy standing next to Seonghwa.

_“There will come a day, sweetheart... when you would find people you love... People you want to protect... Maybe then you’ll understand why... why we treasure you so much, my darling.”_

San was the first to pounce on him, his weight nearly knocking the smaller boy over but Seonghwa steadies them in time. Though he didn’t account for the other five bodies smashing into them, squeezing them in a tight hold, all urgency for the wedding forgotten as they filled the house with their cries.

_“You’ll never lose me... for sure... but I hope you’ll find the heart to love and be loved again... Don’t be afraid... to share yourself with others, Joongie. You’re strong... just like your mother... and smart like your father... I have faith in you... my love...”_

He knows they’re late. He knows the wedding would be starting in an hour and there they were, sprawled on the living room floor, half-dressed and not _nearly_ as ready. He has the commanding instructions playing loosely on his lips like the ghost of a forgotten habit. But, in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away just yet.

_“I love you... with all my heart... my precious little treasure... and I don’t doubt... for a moment... that you’ll find... the courage... to live again...”_

Hongjoong breathes them in, soaking up the warmth of the family around him, feeling the sense nostalgia and belonging hitting him in waves, electrifying his body with so much life.

It was like reconnecting the last piece of the puzzle in his existence.

Finally, he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally over!!!
> 
> Holy shit this story took a whole month to finish?? Wow. And we're ending it with over 1.5k hits and 100 kudos IM- 😭😭
> 
> Wow but really, thank you so much for taking a chance on this story and leaving kudos and comments. A special shout out to ella and those who left supportive messages which I, without a doubt, wouldn't have been able to continue the story without. In the end, this story was an incredible journey to work on and I have no regrets finishing it now.
> 
> As of now, I think I'm going to be taking a break from writing (I'm in the mood to read so if you have works to want me to read, your own or anyone elses, please leave them behind!!) but also, my stupid, never asleep brain is churning like 3 different stories in there so we'll never know...
> 
> But till then, thank you so much for reading and hope you enjoyed this story!! 
> 
> See you in future fics~


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